Bell and Win 




Frederick' fanniiig-ifyer 




Class _I^S.35:^I 
Book ^t-r^^- 

Cam^kW mi- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



BELL AND WING 



BY 

FREDERICK FANNING AVER 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

Zbe f^nicfterbocfier presd 

1911 






Copyright, igii 

BY 

FREDERICK FANNING AVER 



Ube Itnlclietbocliec presB, "Hew Korfe 



iCI.A2 8(;0 02 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Gage d'Amour ......... i 

A Bird in a Bonnet ........ 6 

Lilac ........... ii 

Wytopitlock . . , _ 13 

To Such A Wife .' ". . . . . . . 15 

One Man . * . . . . 19 

Trickly Le Bon Pot 28 

Pyrrha 30 

Summer Days ......... 42 

Gloxinia .......... 45 

No Man's Friend ......... 49 

SuFFiciT .......... 54 

Man and Bird 63 

In the Nature of Things ....... 67 

Pearl . ' 78 

Know Thyself 83 

Peter Roublemint ........ 85 

Now and Then 90 

GOLGOTHA 93 

Edward Farnum Southwick . . . . . . .110 

The Appian Way . . . . . . . . .115 

In Ccelis . . . . . . . . . ii8 

Song 122 

Lover to Priest 124 

SuPERNiTY 126 

Egohood .......... 132 

Here 's Luck .......... 143 

Sing, Gentle Bird ........ 146 

"Success" at a Brush ........ 150 

Quechee River ......... 153 



IV 



Contents 



Lord Lavish . 
VILLAGE FOOL 

Ben Total 

Come, Come Away . 

My Xenium 

On the Rhine 

Nonconformist 

Pebbles 

Doctor and Patient 

Boy Song 

One Afternoon 

Agnes . 

Jockey-Day . 

The Man of It 

ViEWFULLY 

ootrum and corncockle 

Know Thy Task 

THE MAN MILITANT 

A Bachelor 

In the Overworld . 

A Japanese War Claim 

Impromptu 

Deversorium Viatoris I 

Her Duke 

Halo vSkimp 

OLD DARBY . 

Love 

Little Silver. 

Twins . 

Hell 

Sheldrake Elegance 

His Worst 

My Friends . 

Man and Book 

Wily Smiley . 

Among Ruins . 

For Example . 

Dead 

Know Thy Phyllis. 

Esto Perpetua 



ierosolymam Proficiscentis 



Contents 



A Robber ..... 










410 


Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter from Dull Moor 




417 


Mabel Mapleton ....... 




430 


Afraid of Me? 










435 


Endlessness 










439 


In a Mirror 










• 443 


In a Dream ..... 










447 


Paper Dolls ..... 










• 452 


Pink Apple Point .... 










. 456 


Valerie Fay 










. 465 


No Death 










467 


Craft 










473 


Always Rosalie .... 










479 


At Sea 










482 


The Story of Zemepheth Tallith . 










485 


One Great Man 










488 


Hereafter ..... 










492 


In Preston ..... 










503 


Rosy Weigelia .... 










507 


Life in the World 










512 


Eunice 










522 


IN A BELL-TOWER 










526 


Confidentially .... 










542 


Adelyn, or How to Win Her 










545 


MOON FIELDS, OR MAN THE GOD 










556 


Not Your Dog! .... 










658 


Brothers ..... 










660 


Man or Spider? .... 










663 


Know Thy Horse .... 










669 


Leo AND Elfinella. 










674 


Thinking of Eunice 










686 


To a Street Minstrel . 










694 


Don Dun ..... 










698 


Polly Man and Folly Girl . 










702 


Campo Santo 










707 


In an Inn 










711 


Athanasia 










716 


Pluck-Luck 










719 


Brilla 










732 


By Love 










737 



vi Contents 

PAGE 

Alioth 745 

MiDFiELD Thoughts 748 

cunflint .......... 752 

Thinking of Preston ........ 756 

Euthanasia .......... 761 

Imperialism .......... 768 

Know Thy Chick 777 

Rivals 783 

Priest and Sequela ........ 786 

Greatness 795 

Eunice and I 797 

Thou Shalt Not Kill 801 

Lost and Found 805 

Spirit 807 

Waiting 812 

A Sky Word 817 

Worship versus Love ........ 822 

Spirit Beauty ......... 827 

Clasping the Roses ........ 832 

Semper Supra ......... 836 

Dollar-Foot Farm 840 

Incognito .......... 846 

CLAUDIA 849 

The General ......... 861 

Raison d'Etre ......... 866 

A Song in a Thistle 870 

The Heel of the Hunt 876 

PRUNELLA'S PRIEST 881 

One Nobleman . . . . . . . .917 

Run-Amuck Mack 920 

'Round a Corner 924 

Two Kinds of Love 928 

Antipodes .......... 936 

Cassandra Southwick 944 

The Question 95° 

Rosalie 955 

A Monk in Monotone 958 

The Shark and the Lark 961 

Cor Cordium 979 

Among the Moonbeams 982 



Contents vii 

PAGE 

At a Window ......... 986 

Jealous ........... 990 

At the Altar 993 

Sword and Pen ......... 997 

De Amicitia .......... lOOI 

Kings and Queens 1005 

Philosopher and Priest ....... 1009 

Know Thy Mate 1015 

Bloodhounds of the Czar ....... 1019 

Death 1030 

Not So Quick 1035 

After Death .......... 1040 

Eagle Song 1047 

A Shriving Pen 1049 

Elsewhere .......... 1054 

BREAD ON THE WATERS 1057 

More and Higher ......... 1072 

Not a Word .......... 1077 

Tragedy 1082 

Charlotte 1087 

A Bras Ouverts ......... 1090 

The Sylph Self 1091 

Gamblers .......... 1094 

My Wren 1098 

Ella AND Stella ....,,... iioi 

For Love 1105 

Under Snow 1109 

Pickthank AND Prudence . . . . . . . iiii 

Not Yet 1118 

Sunrise Reverie . . . . . . . .1122 

virtute, non astutia ........ ii29 

Elbows .......... 1136 

Fearfulness 1140 

A Friend .......... 1146 

LONGINGS OF AN ACOLYTE 11 53 

The Night OF THE Big Wind 1167 

My Rose 1171 

For A Sign 1175 

The Stars 1182 

Elmbank 1 186 



viii Contents 

PAGE 

Peacham Pasture ......... 1196 

evvigzeitgeist ......... i203 

The Indictment ......... 1210 

Battle ........... 1219 

To Whom it May Concern ....... 1222 

Two Notes OF a Thrush 1227 

To My Forefathers ........ 1230 

Savigny and Seltzerella ....... 1234 

Priestliness 1239 

Not all is Gold ......... 1245 

By Moonrise 1248 

Heaven 1256 



BELL AND WING 



BELL AND WING 



GAGE D' AMOUR 

Here is only one speckled flower 
Out of my garden, 
Grew sweetness there and power 
Meant to reguerdon 
Such complemental care, 
Shows sun-wash, lashing air, 
Shows a way of its own 
Which itself has grown, 
And now is blue and white 
And a beautiful sight. 

I tuck the flower inside 

My breast, as you see, 

Where such memories hide 

As will live with me — 

Two memories, and both such 

As never time could touch 

In any eternity 

To unravel the flower 

Or strip it of power. 

Or crowd its light 

Out of my sight, 



Gage d' Amour 

Such blue and such white! 

My garden? Once it was theirs, 
These my two eternal friends 
Death captured, — death spares 
The spot where their lilac bends, 
For there were they too in spring; 
This was their oriole, 
Once they heard him sing 
Such overflow of soul 
As made the meadows ring 
As if they too had soul to sing. 

Here is their pebble-path; 

They took it in their day 

For the twist it hath 

And cut-diamond-play 

In among these showers 

Of pelican flowers 

Where I walk, while I see too 

This flower is white, that is blue, 

But no flower leaps so free 

Or full of ripe supremity 

As this blue flower they left to me. 

In it is power to fight 
Wind or cuff of sleet 
To capture jacaranda light, 
Turn the rye-grass sweet 
As sweetness, stand straight, 
Put a cheek to any fate 
To execute any feat. 
Make this effort-life complete. 



Gage d'Amour 

Shall I follow my two friends on 

Their way they have gone, 

Seek to be as they 

In their former day 

And their world away, 

Or make my soul distinct 

As the pheasant's-eye is pinked, 

Wears its own pate, 

Goes its own gait 

To be the one way typed and great? 

For though the same sun now shines out. 

Each man nurses his own doubt, 

As each cloud wears its unique pout. 

Yonder is each garden-chair 

Where they would sit at noon 

To say: "Life is worth a care; 

Does not midnight make the moon?" 

There was I, the child. 

There they cooed and smiled 

To see me puzzle to know 

And mimic to grow. 

So would say: "Love to our child! 

See that you learn to glee 

As the reed-bird flashes wild 

From his eucalyptus tree 

Because he is himself and free!" 

So I took their word, 
Not their way they went; 
I followed what I heard. 
My own ballad-bent, 
My own truth I had, 



Gage d' Amour 

Never priest nor myriad 
To govern me or suggest, 
So I enforced my best 
Of my whole self as I was 
For love of it and because 
I got the flower from them, 
This blue lily on a stem. 

With me always to last 

Is the thing I love, 

The thought of them that are past, 

Their path to beyond and above 

Anything about I see. 

Anything I know or think, 

For soul is one eternity. 

And so I love this brink 

Of life I look from, since I know 

They looked and loved the same way so. 

Death is like being born ; 

Now that I unravel light 

I see life is only night, 

I see death is only dawn. 

So I keep gladness in hand, 

I foot my garden through 

Where once they took their stand. 

Took this flower, white and blue. 

To drop to me, the which I keep 

To carry — there 's the soul I reap. 

Yet are they gone, so I am sad, 
While next around me now 
Each thrasher in his heart is glad 
Of blossom in his apple-bough. 



Gage d' Amour 

And so he sings to sing, 

Never minds the gain at hand, 

Mate or any happy land, 

But just his love of carolling 

Is uppermost, so he scarce knows 

Any harsh wind how it blows. 

While I am up to follow, try 

If I may catch his song and eye 

Only to find how slow 

My heart is, my note how low, 

For here are their tripod and garden chair, 

Their little pebble thoroughfare. 

And, oh, to think they are no more there! 



A BIRD IN A BONNET 



Caught at last — my bird, too! 

Out of your meadow-lush once you came 

That white morning in a frock of blue 

To match your eye-fire against a game 

Of sun-shots from an early dew, 

I thought it and said it then, 

There was danger if you played with men. 



Somewhat of men I know ; 

You too had learned to be mostways shy, 

Seeing how thy take to killing so 

And you not ready that day to die, 

Flute at your last adagio, 

Dab those ribbon-wings with rust, 

Pay life's price, one little puff of dust. 



Ill 



All the while you knew 
Men are dangerous, mark them as a class, 
Make light of that which is fine or new, 
Would not let a starlit starling pass 



A Bird in a Bonnet 

If they could split the small heart through — 

Not so very far removed 

From their puma-cousin, as is proved. 



Came there one gentle hand 
Of my Rosalie, fingers through the grass, 
Plucked you, tucked you in her bonnet-band 
— Who could let such gold-eyed purple pass? 
So a whole world might understand, 
Whether you dropped or on you went, 
How Beauty is its own monument. 



In an oxlip primrose 

Was the fine last note I caught from you 

When your early new morning hymn rose 

Up through one necklace of dancing dew 

Which sprinkled sparks on the dim close 

Till color and song and fire 

Swept my soul up to all vast desire. 



VI 



How you sang, lips torn apart 

As if the throat and soul of you would go 

To take with them such heaven -hea vied heart, 

Leave a few stripes and sun-spots below 

Which men might finger, see to chart — 

The best of you counted not much, 

Nothing was there they could taste or touch ! 



A Bird in a Bonnet 



What lips — still open wide, 

Right where your song stopped when you were slain, 

As if you thought, just before you died, 

You could catch the sweet note once again ! 

Throats are narrow, but soul is wide, 

So here is the one strange thing. 

That you may flash no more nor leap nor sing. 

VIII 

Your song, too, has that died out 
More than the soul which made it has, 
For here we have it again, past doubt, 
And autumn not past Michaelmas — 
Hark to what wild orchestral shout, 
Right where my true Rosalie 
Has hung her hat in an almond tree, 



Comes from a dozen throats 

Perched just above you, my bonnet-queen, 

To drop you a shower of such joy-bell notes 

As you taught them once behind a screen 

Of holly where Christmas dotes! 

How they call to you and shout 

For wonder that you only gape about ! 



So is your song still there 
Like your yellow-spotted frock of blue, 
All that once was of you that was fair, 
So men may come a little more like you 



A Bird in a Bonnet 

They thought to kill — death would not share 
With you and your soul-sonnet, 
My mistress of a summer bonnet! 



XI 



Always, too, in air, 

Whether on wing or hat or branches, 

Like an intermediary there 

'Twixt sky and earth to take the chances 

So your sweet bosom broke forth fair, 

One sun-eyed leap, your song of mirth, 

Like you were calling me up from earth, 



XII 



As ever high above men, 

What with such song-burst out of color, 

I, too, look up again and again, 

This anchored world looks dull and duller 

Matched with your moon-meridian, 

While you sweep down to us, God knows, 

Only to perch where some honey-petal blows, 

XIII 

So you lighted at last 

With Rosalie, in her new bonnet. 

Like a sailor in the mizzenmast. 

One claw of zinfandel coiled upon it, 

Scarlet ipomoea made fast. 

And she, my Rosalie there, 

The all-blown rose in your yard-arm square! 



lo A Bird in a Bonnet 



Men die to turn to poor 

Pale nothing of a wasted face, 

While you there, you have a foothold sure. 

Keep your purple jacket and your place 

Just as a spirit would, secure 

Above my lady's bonnet 

To fly the world through safe upon it. 



XV 



Over and above your trees. 

Or out of a cloud to slip away 

Against all heaven as if you would please 

Its blue cold breast with your new lay 

Or rouse it by one burst of glees, 

I knew you for bell and wing, 

Wild bugle-throated Beauty of a thing ! 



LILAC 

Conscience hit him: It was wrong 

To task her 
To be weak instead of strong; 

To ask her 
To look lightly on the human life — 

Death or strife ; 

Pricked and stung him : It was weak 

To love her 
As the flashing of a week 

Above her, 
Just to glut one fancy for an hour 

In her power; 

Clinched and cowed him : It was low 

In the breast 
To make her common, hollow 

As the rest; 
To lock her joy in empty sorrow 

To-morrow. 

Then it stabbed : She was all 

As a child. 
As quick to trip and fall 

If beguiled; 
Easily tricked and fowled as a lark 

After dark. 



12 Lilac 

So he held her in the power 

Of his skill; 
Could have crushed her in an hour 

To his will 
To drop her to your hungry street, 

Slime and sleet. 

Has he killed because the art 

Was his best? 
Did he spill the Hnnet's heart 

For a jest 
To clip its narrow wing where it began, 

Noble man? 

Could he never learn how this 

Was the first 
Tiger's impulse which was his 

At his worst, 
Some hell's instinct hellishly recast 

From the Past? 

She has pinned a lilac spray 

To his coat, 
The flower which slept that day 

At her throat, 
So caught the one word she could not say 

On its way, 

Just a word: Be my true man, 

Strong as Fate ! 
Take what good of me you can. 

Small or great ; 
Take the lilac of me, 't is the best — 

Leave the rest. 



WYTOPITLOCK 

Cock-robin hill is a place I knew 

When I was boy and all day long 
I kept an ear to the robin's song, 
Kept an eye to where he flew 
In the sun he stopped, 
In the fog he chopped. 

By the hill-side up the flowers were red. 
Or under foot again they were white, 
As if the month of June had been bled 
And was dying like a wounded knight ! 
What an hour it was 
In the moss and haws! 

I took my way up the slope, I took 

My way by my mountain-laurel brook 
To reach one spot of pinnacle where 
Chorus drifted in the air 
Like the throat of a bird 
When his heart is heard. 

Such a fine song as I never knew 

Was dancing now with the dancing wind. 
While I was making to get to it too 

Before such triumphant glee could be thinned 
By the time I took 
To listen and look. 
13 



14 Wytopitlock 

Never the song of thrush was such 

As this was, lilted and tilted so 
I could not stop, yet I feared to go 
Lest I should lose, by a step too much, 
One call or one note 
Of the trumpet-throat. 

On I manoeuvred on higher up, 

Pulled at club-moss or wild apple-cup. 
Made my way straight too to where I thought 
My bird was and such music was wrought 
As never was heard 
Out of lip or bird. 

Now was I come to the very top. 

Now was my song, too, come to a stop 
And I listened — there was windless hush. 
When, snug in one thick cahco-bush, 
Tucked away in back 
By her trick of knack 

Was Eunice, my Eunice, her way she knew 

To summon me and to time me too 
By her song — her song of the April wren 
Which I hear now as I heard it then. 
Her song which I hear 
After many a year. 



TO SUCH A WIFE 

Oh, you think you made a mistake 
Just that day you married him 
For love and his own sweet sake, 
Which now you think was a girleen whim — 
You were too young to know of men, 
Wisdom was beyond your ken 
Or your needing then. 



Life took its chatty way along, 
You found no fault in the main, 
Each day captured its silver song 
Of tree-field finch, canary grain. 
While you went gathering, day on day. 
The sweets of life your young way, 
Nor a plaint to say. 



He was high kindness, your life-mate was, 
One strong good man, kept his heart 
For you and his human cause. 
Fought his way by the mastermost art 
Of doing his all for the world and you. 
Was superhumanly true, 

And you knew it too. 
15 



1 6 To Such a Wife 

Satellites coiling about a sun 

His little ones were, three in all, 

Made in his image, each one — 

It may be there 's one day you recall 

You clung to the youngest to let him know 

You never could let him go, 

He looked the father so. 



Or such an evening as Heaven looks down 
I saw you both once, arm in arm. 
Far over beyond our town 
To watch the stars in their field of charm- 
That evening it was I heard you say 
They pointed a higher way, 
A finer day; 



All which goes for pure nothing now 
You have discovered the truth 
That, look at it anyhow, 
One may not tie to these whims of youth, 
So soon, for fact, they will pass away 
When womanhood has its day, 
Wisdom her way. 



Your love was a thing, you think, to die, 
Child-play, something premature, 
Little mightier than your sigh, 
Or you thought you loved, yet you were not sure. 
While now you fancy you have the truth, 
That love will outgrow its youth 
And itself, forsooth ! 



To Such a Wife 17 

"So," said you, "if I do not love 
My life-mate, one proper thing 
And likewise easy enough 
Is to leave him — no whimpering 
Nor back thought, " so you set your mind 
One day cold and hard inclined 
To drop him behind. 



But what was to pay, my sweet wise wife, 
Or what was to learn, by chance, 
Soon as you thought of his life, 
His love and the solemn circumstance 
Of leaving him alone in his place. 
Never more to share your grace. 
To hold your face? 



What now was to think or to do. 
Of noble best purpose what. 
When all was ready for you 
To leave him so, yet your heart would not? 
What could have held you back by the hour 
But love of a wider dower. 
Deeper power? 



Not love as once the old love was 
When you were younger, perhaps. 
Or you loved without a cause. 
For love has a thousand tricks and traps, 
Catches you, lets you go again. 
Knows how power comes of pain, 
And the meaning is plain: 



To Such a Wife 

You shall not escape from what is best, 

And noblest is best each day; 

So are you put to the test 

To see if your noblest shall have its way, 

The mighty best of you — there 's the thing 

Makes for superhumaning, 

There 's the love I sing! 

Is he not kind and foremost-true. 
This mate of yours, and his life 
Wholly highly given to you 
By heart and soul in his street of strife, 
His best he could think or do 
To tower to, to hope for too, 
And all for you? 

There 's the high Beauty of your man. 
While who is there lives and breathes 
Loves not Beauty more than 
Those sweets for which he fingers and teethes, 
Loves not all Beauty first, all in spite 
Of whim or any gain or might. 
By rule of right? 

So I say, 'though you reck not what. 
So I tell how, in spite of you. 
Whether you know it or not, 
You love your man who is kind and true! 



ONE MAN 



Hog-ugly was this man I knew once, 

Before I knew him for what lie was, 
His life one kind of silent pause — 

Hobbled like a bunch of stunts; 
"Snaffled" the town-boys named him, 

So much hard times had tamed him— 
Nose like a toad-horn, so little of him 

To look at was worth the seeing. 
Such a loose-cut curious being 

The world seemed all above him, 
None to follow, none to love him. 

Which one would certainly say 
Of his puff -muffin look and walrus-way. 



None seemed to know of him who he was — 
Always his way by some lonesome street 

He would take, yet for never cause 
One could guess — always complete 

Was the mystery was hung about him 
As men would shuffle to dodge and doubt him. 

19 



20 One Man 

III 

One thing odd about him was this, 

More than .all others : close to his heels 
A dog or two would follow to kiss 

His footsteps as if they were seals 
Of fortune — so one day I said : 

More is this man than heels and head, 
Somewhat is of him which hopes and feels; 

I '11 follow his compass of toes, 
Watch how he sneaks to where he goes, 

Know what he does, which nobody knows. 

IV 

Over beyond the town you cross 

A meadow, then a ditch, 
Into a field of pauper-haws 

To where the country takes a pitch 
Through one thicket of Titan-trees, 

One forest-edge by a strip of river 
Which never moved a lip to quiver 

As far through the trees one could see 
Keen sunlight strike like an arrow, 

Each leaf dance the dance of a bee. 
Then droop to flutter like a sparrow 

Struck by the sting of any arrow. 



Into the forest my man stalks. 
His two dogs there at his heels — 

I watch him as on he walks, 

I wonder what he thinks and feels, 



One Man 21 

He alone in the world for not 

A neighbor to pass him a thought, 
To say him: "This is an ugly day, 

But you take heart, never you mind, 
God is more than a dish of clay. 

Soul is king and high-inclined 
And you shall come to your own one day." 

On he totters from tree to tree. 
Each tree a friend to look him steady, 

Pass a hand to him strong and ready 
And full of promise of more to be. 



On he totters, noon is on, 

His world he has left behind him, 
An ugly thought, may be, is gone. 

Nothing of the town to mind him 
He 's excommunicate, cut off 

From what the world thinks world enough 
To glut a man, fill his soul, 

As if spirit has any whole. 
Makes any ending, mounts any goal! 



VII 



His was such hungry hunted look — 

Could it be his way he took 
To live aside, never mingle 

With the cheap jump and jingle 
Of the world, or had the world left him 

Straightway because nature bereft him 



One Man 

Of iris and jessamy-vine 

So he should pink and orange shine, 
Who should say? Albeit I followed 

Where forest folded in and swallowed 
A day like a yellow grape, 

Yet never crimsoned at the rape. 



Of a sudden I saw he stopped — 

Out before him his look was dreary, 
His way underneath him weary 

Now the underbrush had mopped 
His path up — down there he sat 

In one little angle-plat 
For gazing among his trees 

To wish he might be one of these 
High-handed, pearl-banded trees 

To poke his head up skyward. 
Never know mock or byword. 

Handsome in the lock and limb, 
Fingers to reach for Seraphim 

Of light and space and Beauty 
Above trough-life, belly-booty — 

Just to be as one of these 
Handsome-handed music- trees 

Full of little lofty glees 
To whisper secrets to the breeze, 

To never let the sumbeams pass, 
To sprinkle pictures in the grass — 

Just to be the like of them 
From the under-dike of them 

To each high-pointing spike of them ! 



One Man 23 

IX 



Down he sat, now noon was high — 

This much of him always was known, 
Never yet was he alone, 

For there at his elbow by 
His two dogs were in touch with him — 

How they leaped and bounded 
As if their hearts were hounded 

By strong love to make much of him. 
Now at his shoulder and neck, 

Now at his lip and cheek, 
Nothing to hold them in check 

— Oh if their tongues could speak ! — 
Over his lap by a leap. 

Over his head at a dart, 
Into his lap in a heap 

Of wonderful wild true heart 
To look at him such a look. 

To say to him such a soul 
As stars in my meadow-brook, 

Sweet in my clover-bowl ! 



Just the one bread-loaf, enough for two, 

Never enough for three was there, 
Yet he the same way generous- true, 

So much heart in him to spare, 
Eager to give his dogs his share. 

Yet for want of warmth grew pale 
As noon does if sunbeams fail, 

So took to picking new wild cherry, 
Any kind of shrub or berry 



24 One Man 

To hold him together awhile — 
Who knows when any Heaven may smile? 



Never he got sight of me, 

I behind this or another tree 
Where I could keep view of him to see 

The nobleman in him, superlative heart, 
His fearlessness, his little thinking 

Of himself, his never shrinking 
From what is soul-most great, 

Bread for his dogs and he could wait. 
As too how plain to be seen 

Their love of him, which he well knew 
Would wait and starve and die for him too 

If need was and they only knew — 
The great man, yet so little of him 

Your world thinks worth sticking to. 
Cuticle, toe-peak, ormolu. 

There was none to think to love him 
As there he turned to his gentle trees 

To get the whisper of one of these. 
One voice of God in such lonely breeze. 



XII 



Now was I softly behind him. 
Time was come to unblind him, 

To let him know I was there 

With my thought of him and my care 

In the forest-oak air. 

Tapped I gently at his shoulder. 

Grew such sudden handful bolder 



One Man 25 

That when he turned I offered him my hand 
He took like he were subject to command, 

As there, each looking to each, we stood 
In touch in the willow and mushroom wood, 

I to look to him to see 
Such high-thoughted sublimity 

Of soul, of heartfulness in his eyes 
Beyond what is worldly-wisdom-wise 

As never was seen before, 
I venture, while by all the more 

I looked him through and through, 
His was the kindest look and true. 

Blue eyes as deepest heaven is blue. 

XIII 

Hand in hand — and now he could see 

Honestness and the friend in me 
To trust to, I was outspoken, 

One wide way to his heart was broken 
As I now to tell him began: 

"For the life of me I have been looking 
Once in the world to find a man, 

Not here where the king-lark is juking, 
Where tree-swallows take to their nest, 

But over in yonder thickened town 
Where man against man, king or clown. 

Plays mastiff to smash his brother down, 
Never to do his coronal best — 

Yet here among your pulpit-trees 
Where you hang to the leaves of glees 

By another soul, by a nobler plan, 
I followed and I found my man. 

I know not who you may be, 



26 One Man 

Only I know what you are, 

Part of one true eternity 
Out of the world, like a single star, 

To throw your light, be you never so far, 
So drew me to you — never word 

You uttered and I ever heard — 
Only where the philomel stirred 

To wash his wings in sun, 
Where ground-robin and arbutus run 

Was your king-spot, your one way 
You left the world behind each day — 

Yet has the world such need of you, 
One man who shall dare to do 

His true-most for never fear 
Of what may come to him now and here — 

To dare to speak forth and to do 
So all men may see and follow you!" 

XIV 

Straightway there in the forest 

He built me a bower. 
Thought and fingers of a florist 

To gather each perfect forest fiower. 
Dew-bells for diamond-eyes. 

Pink pyrethrum, or any red 
Woodrose knotted in edelweiss 

And laurel to circle my head 
For love of me, such love of me 

He scarce could make enough of me 
As on he went building his bower 

Of every vine and salmon fiower 
There at his feet to capture, 

I all love of him and such rapture 



One Man 27 

As any girl knows when she knows 

A great man loves her — I took his rose, 
As there in his bower of palms 

And perfume of elegant forest charms 
He had me fastened in his arms 

For never thought which was spoken, 
Never once was the silence broken 

Save by one flute-lark overhead 
As we listened and I thought he said: 

Oh, well for the world when such are wed! 



A word to you girls by one who knows: 
Judge not a man by his toes and nose, 

By the thing he does, by the way he goes — 
Have him for what he is, 

Greatness in him — you shall not miss 
Nor gather of him more than this, 

Just the sweet spirit which is his. 



TRICKLY LE BON POT 

A LITTLE copper knuckle on his nose — 

You would think, 
To watch him 'twixt the melons and the sink, 
See him chuckle, wag his toes, 
Bed his belly in the sun. 
Count the nibbles in a bun. 
You would think 

Of the little yellow tassel at his chin — 

You would hold, 

To see him eye it, dye it loud as gold, 

Cock an ear up for a fin. 

Tie a ribbon to his shoe, 

Clap a nappy look at you, 

You would hold. 

As he took his toppy gait across the street, 

You 'd conclude 
If there were any much of him for good, 
'T was a triumph of the feet, 
A shining of the shin 
As a pickerel plays his fin, 
You 'd conclude 

From the little choppy giggle at his chin, 

You 'd believe 
He surely had a wisdom up his sleeve 
Where the oracles begin, 
28 



Trickly Ic bon Pot 29 

Just a look to let you think 
He was brimming to the brink, 
You 'd believe, 

If you saw what wonder- way he took to spit, 

You would judge 
He cherished nothing which he would begrudge. 
He so liberal of it. 
Such open-hearted show, 
"Mere trifle, don't you know," 
You would judge, 

To watch him fetch an angle in the sun, 

You would say. 
To see the monstrous sputterly display, 
That an end of thought was run, 
That no human trueman mood 
Could pitch higher than he stood. 
You would say 

There was gism in him of conspicuous poise, 

You would think 
Fortune set the compass by his wink, 
Cocked an ear up to his noise — 
As for aught that he could do 
For love of truth or you. 
You would think? — 



PYRRHA 



Be perfect as God, my friend! 

Don't whimper about it! 
Your mighty means to one mighty end, 

For how will you doubt it 
To look at Beauty? All you see 

Is Beauty, or strives to be. 
I may not look to a star 

But it looks to me from endless far 
Eye-flash of prune and cinnabar; 

I may not look to a grain 
Of snow, corpuscle of rain 

But I have it again. 
The wheel-about of orange fire 

In violet attire! 
Or there is the peat- worm's hide, 

Lavender on either side, 
Stripings of bottle-green, 

Rings of Alderney between, 
And I thought him nothing or small. 

His velvet curtain over him all! 
Each sun to his thousand daughters, 

Swallows to their zenith-quarters. 
Moon-dance in the waltzing waters — 

Did you think otherly of soul? 
But look to the rounded whole 
30 



Pyrrha 31 

Of what in spaces I see 
Climbing to more sublimity: 

Is it not factfully true 
The Beauty of it through and through 

Leaps there in the soul in you? 
Is Beauty not come to stay 

Through the change-about of clay? 
Worlds to atoms shift their places, 

Make new beds and old faces ! 
On with the shift, and it ceases never. 

Yet are the blue and gold there forever ! 

You shall shift into dust and wind — 

Is, then, the Beauty of you. 
The what you are, the thing you do, 

The masterfulness of truth you pinned. 
Made of glass to be whipped in two, 

And dust and wind just the soul of you? 
Mark how what endures 

Is the Beauty of things. 
One endless blue far which allures, 

Yonder pink light in Leo's wings 
To not dwindle and not quit — 

Pin your hold to the Beauty in it 
To mark how his pink light will last 

When Leo is a thing of the past! 



Lived there once a king 

In Lesbos so long ago 
'T is most too much to be reckoning 

By what I know, 



32 Pyrrha 

Such pompous grasping king, 
Such a way he had, 

His one-man way of governing 
By what was bad, 

People thought him mad. 



A Pelasgian King, 

And by what of him I know, 
He made no moment of smothering 

His heart out so 
He could do a thing for just 

His greed of gain and lust. 
The wolf in him, for he could bite 

His way for spite. 
Nor mattered wrong or right. 

Gorgeous was his court, 

Cloth of gold, porphyry piles, 
Girls of a tournure cunningly wrought 

As their crop of smiles 
For his pleasure, each kilt 

To the knees was gilt 
As they coiled and ogled and sang 

Till his castle rang 
Half a parasang. 

Men in iron stood 

Just for their power to undo 

Whatever should go against his mood- 
How well he knew 

How power must wear a charm 
To be safe from harm, 



Pyrrha 33 



While so he hedged him about 

By soldier and scout 
To bolt the sly world out. 

Soon he took to war 

For one thing noble to do ; 

Epirus was what he hungered for, 
Thought well he knew 

That to crumble and kill 
By stroke of skill 

Must make things crumble to his will- 
So war was declared, 

Nor a man to be spared. 

How men do blunder. 

Think to make their mighty way 
By the genius of rape and plunder 

And nought to pay, 
Theirs just booty and loot, 

The tramp of the brute, 
As if there went no power to play 

At Right, make for best, 
Grow the love-burdened breast ! 

Straight on went his war. 

Men were killed like apple-flies 
For what he pallored and thirsted for, 

One vaster prize 
Of more people and land 

In his iron hand. 
As if to dominate by pinch, 

Hold a nation in his clinch 
Could make him great an inch ! 



34 Pyrrha 

Just a year was by ; 

Epirots and Pelasgians fought 
Till all seemed ready to stab and die 

Nor take a thought 
Of thousands dead and gone 

Just to carry on 
A king to power so he might say 

He had more power than they, 
Power to cut and slay. 

One day late of June 

Came a messenger to speak 
For peace — one sweet girl brought the boon, 

One Princess meek, 
First daughter of the King, 

And her following 
Six maids of honor — flowers they brought. 

Peace they sought 
And an end of plot. 

Beautiful she was, 

Pyrrha, daughter of the King 
Of Epirus — there she wore a ring 

Of chrysoprase 
Which she gave the King 

Of Lesbos for truce, 
Gave him of all her country to choose 

His province to have and to hold 
With its trunk of gold. 

Answered her the King : 

"Your whole country I will take! 
You, too, I want for wife — this ring 

My pledge I make 



Pyrrha 35 



To do the thing I say 

Or fall by the way ! 
So take a thought of it to see 

If you will humor me 
So this thing shall be ! 

"Be my wife this night, 

Tell me your great father's plans, 
What are his secrets, how he will fight, 

Who are his clans, 
And you shall straight be Queen 

Of the world between. 
Queen of two peoples in place of one, 

For as I suck the sun 
The thing shall be done. 

"Refuse me and you die, 

You die the death of a dog ; 
For who is there born greater than I, 

My soul agog 
With want, my want of you. 

Of your kingdom too, 
So who shall deny me my right 

Since I have the might. 
Have the hand to smite?" 

"Slay me. Sire," she said. 

Fling me to your dogs to eat! 
Rather a thousand times I were dead 

Than I live to meet 
Such wish as in you crawls, 

Play my father false. 
Betray my people to your keep 

For you to crush and reap — 
Rather would I sleep!" 



36 Pyrrha 

"Away with her" he said; 

"Let her be hamshackled fast! 
Away to the block, chop off her head 

Ere day be past! 
Now shall she learn a thing, 

Learn a mighty king 
Is not to be mocked in his pride, 

To be jostled aside 
If he seek a bride!" 



This king's only son, 

He who was his prided heir, 

Stood by to see what was being done. 
Saw she was fair 

As any flower of France, 

Saw now was his chance 

For being man to play high and true- 
There he loved her too ! 



The Beauty of her. 

All her great spirit and heart. 
And how should any man not love her. 

Whine about what 's to come, 
Stand foolsome and dumb. 

And she there, as this June wind saith, 
To draw her champak breath 

For a drink of death? 

"To the block!" said he; 

"There 's my place, I to find way 
To save her — this thing shall not be, 

A hand to slay 



Pyrrha 37 



The violet! To the block 

Her chains to unlock, 
I there for man to set her free 

By the love in me, 
By the powers that be!" 

Nor sooner said 

Than he was up to demand 
His right to number her with the dead 

By his own hand: 
"Give me your axe and mask 

Is all I ask. 
Your mantle too, I to your task, 

I that can strike to kill 
To do my father's will ! 

"Your axe and mask — do you 

Lock me in her prison tower ! 
There you may see how I shall be true, 

By all my power, 
To hand her soul to God, 

Her ribs to the sod ! 
If I do not as I say, 

If I falter by the way, 
Then is my head to pay!" 

Alone in her tower 

Waited she now to be killed ; 
The style was on the stroke of the hour, 

Each wind was stilled, 
As if the heaven held breath 

To see her put to death. 
And she so fair as cloud-lands lie 

In an evening sky 
Just before they die. 



38 Pyrrha 



Sooner now than thought, 

Face in mask, axe in hand 
As if to strike to kill on the spot, 

Do the King's command, 
Comes the Prince, his place 

At the block, his face 
In iron, and straight there he stood 

In his headsman's hood 
As your headsman would. 

Now she kneels to pray, 

Her last bosomful of breath. 
Her last thought of a thing to say 

Before her death, 
As there she lays her head 

To count with the dead, 
Nor flinch nor murmur manifest — 

She is put to the test 
And has done her best. 

Quick his mask is off! 

A King's son, a Prince stands now 
At her side to tell the meaning of 

Such his gentle bow 
And kind touch and mild eye 

And his April sigh. 
To tell her his love, how his heart 

Took her side and part 
From the very start. 

"All I want is you! 

My whole heart I give in turn 
To be forever masterly true 

As sun-stars burn 
In the brow of heaven ; 



Pyrrha 39 

Aye, to die even 
To prove you my love, to outbrave 

Death, that I may save 
You from your young grave. 

"To the King! Once there. 

He shall learn too how you vie 
With what in spirit is high and fair 

As yonder sky ! 
Up now and away 

To the King, I say, 
He to give you your life, or I 

To draw my last sigh, 
Take my turn to die!" 

Nor sooner said 

Than they stood before the King, 
The Prince prepared to forfeit his head 

For his treasoning. 
To ask her life, to plead 

That she should be freed, 
To stay such death, to point the King 

The low loathsome sting 
And wrong of the thing. 

Soon as he came to speak 

Of love, told the Crown his love, 
Blood was up to the King's each cheek, 

Such word was enough. 
As past all bounds the King 

Fetched his sword one swing 
Of death — now was an end of words 

As sire and son crossed swords 
At their council boards ! 



40 Pyrrha 



Fierce they fought to kill, 

Our Prince to defend her life, 
Each one the other's soul to spill 

By mighty strife 
Till blood flew wild in air, 

Pelted the wall-beams where 
Gold was knit into lilac thread — 

One thrust through the head 
And the King was dead! — 

Long live the King! 

Prince no more, but King instead 
By force of all righteous reckoning, 

When truth is said. 
This truth, that men must glue 

To the thing they do. 
Nor lives there the Savior to save 

Man from his merited glave, 
Hell-hearts from their grave. 

Did she not love him then 

As there she clung to his heart 
For her noblemost man among men 

To do his part 
For love of what is right 

In his lion sight? 
Love is there, both her love and his, 

True as each star-beam is, 
And the upshot this : 

One savage king goes down, 

A son steps in to take his place, 

To win a bride, to wear a crown, 
To bless his race 

By an end of war. 



Pyrrha 41 



By one gentler law 
Than seeks to crush to win a thing 

By rape and murdering, 
Though he be a king. 

And she now for Queen 

Of her own country and his, 
Never sword to hang between, 

Her God-law this: 
If you would conquer through 

To the end in view, 
You shall put you to any test, 

Unweaken, bare your breast, 
Do your best. 



SUMMER DAYS 

I 
Summer days, 
Sunbeam flaxen days, 
Always coming and going 
So men may be guessing and growing, 
Never to capture the small end of knowing. 
Nudge at me now with your elbow-light, 
Soul is there, though out of sight! 
I know your cunning ways, 
O summer days ! 

II 

Morning hours. 

Fresh among the flowers 

Of my summer-scented day, 

Oh, tell me a little of your way 

You take all heaven in the hollow of a hand 

While I may hold but my grain of sand! 

Lend me of your perfect powers, 

Flower among the flowers, 

O morning hours ! 

Ill 

Afternoon 
Of a day of June, 
Have a way with you to be 
Just a little more in touch with me 
To hint a bit of what I would be knowing, 
42 



Summer Days 43 

Your trick of coming so and going, 
How you keep my finch in tune, 
How you mock the moon, 

afternoon ! 

IV 

Summer day, 

Ambush amber day, 

So much of me glows like you 

Out yonder in your robin-egg blue 

1 wonder if I am there instead of you. 
Or is there room enough for us two 
Where my sun-flies sing and play. 
Dancing their life away, 

O summer day! 



Summer breath. 

Not a lisp of death 

You whisper among the leaves. 

Never an accent whimpers or grieves; 

Always your long deep draught of locust you get, 

Or the upturned lip of mignonette. 

As there your whisper whispereth 

There shall be no death, 

O summer breath ! 

VI 

Summer night. 

Looking dark and bright. 

Tell me of her who is gone, 

Of her whom my spirit lived upon; 

Show me once more one look of her perfect face, 



44 Summer Days 

The star-soul in it and moonbeam grace — 
Your dark to show me her bright 
Kind eye and oversight, 

summer night ! 

VII 

Perfect night, 

Not a flaw in sight. 

Give me of your power to go 

The way of all Beauty, for that way so 

1 see her steps, like the orange glow 
Of stars, to follow their flight, 
Keep eternity in sight, 

O perfect night ! 



GLOXINIA 

Gloxinia is a flower 
Grows in my garden-spot, tops the end 
Of my muscadine-bower — 
Once there came a child 
Looking so like a friend, 
Like a tiny meadow-flower, 
Cooed at me and smiled, 
Then straight off to my garden-spot flew, 
Gathered gloxinia, red and blue. 

Then back to me and said: 
Which will you have, the blue or the red? 

There I looked into the child's eyes 
To see a blue wonderful surprise 

That I should stop to think. 
Keep looking at my meadow-pink 

Till now I scarce could see. 
For looking at her so. 
Her flowers she held up to me 
Like her own gloxinia-glow, 
As there I caught her to me and said: 
You too are perfect blue and red, 
Oh, give me yourself instead ! 

My perfect flower never died 

Because I kept it close inside 

Where love which is closest loves to hide — 
Should there be much or little meant, 
45 



46 Gloxinia 

By just one such garden incident, 

'T is much to me — she put her face 

Forever in my picture-place — 

Two small pink hands which tried once to speak 
Still drum their dreams against my cheek — 
Look, if you will, to see 

How much a thought of it meant to me ! 

Soon, how soon she grew 
The woman — how truly too 

She kept her child-red and human blue, 
And I most past and gone 
For such cheek-bright girl to look upon — 
So, too, too well I knew how she 
So fully had forgotten me 
As if I never were born — 

There 's life, I thought — there 's the rub 
Makes life just mock and rubadub, 
So soon we are lost and gone! 

Always I longed to speak. 

If haply I might mind her 
Of that one far-off flower-week, 

One garden-spot she left behind her — 
So are we wont to think 
Of those we tie to by every knot, 

How they, in turn, will forget us not, 
Will hold to us by the counter-link — 

What use that I now should think 
She would remember such long ago? — 

She would not know, she would not know! 

It was one August afternoon, 

Each harvest-fly was in tune 
For sun-dance in rigadoon, 



Gloxinia 47 

Now I stood watching my maple-twig 
Rock a robin to sleep, 
Plucked at a yellow tulip sprig 
Holding one blossom in its keep — 
I thought how the sky is dumb for vain, 
Holds me for life in doubt, 
Mocks me by fling and pout 
Now my flower could never come again. 

Always so I thought of her, 

My child once with her gentle tap 
At my heart, her pretty off-hand hap 

And flower-face, her little stir 
For a June breeze so at my cheek, 

Like the sweet Heaven were trying to speak — 
This way I took to ponder: 

She so young, I so beyond her 
As only to hope in vain 

How, maybe, she might one day wonder 
If I would look in her heart again. 

When — sudden as any thought, 

I listened, knew I caught 
Such two soft steps near me, just behind. 

As might have been whispers of wind — 
Next was one silverly voice 

Sent my heart leaping like jumps of joys: 
"You will not remember them. 

These flowers — once they had a stem, 
Once they were red and blue. 

Wide-spread and tufted too, 
Once I offered them to you! 

"Will you not have them now, 

Such long years they kept their vow 



48 Gloxinia 

To come to you some day, somehow? "- 

There I looked into the same eyes, 
More was there now than just surprise 

That I should keep looking so 
Where soul chokes in one overflow 

Of eyes of such human blue. 
So wonderfully lasting true 

I was fastened there as I only said : 
"Oh, give me yourself instead!" 



NO MAN'S FRIEND 

Get under his bull-heel 

If you would up to the full feel 
His pinch, 

Such a man as once I knew 
Liked to do his worst for you 

To see you flinch ! 
I look, while every now and then 

I see the snapping lynx in men! 

See such a man how he tries to cut 

The ground from under you, 
While fact is and wonder too 

He sees not, more than a mariput, 
How, anyhow he may slash to cut. 

Do his devilish best to do 
His very devilish worst for you, 

He only chops himself in two ! 

My Gladys is a girl I know 

Thinks of me so 
'T were more than folly he should try 

To catch her eye. 
Small use that he try her heart 

By his trappy art 
To pull her away from me 

For love or deviltry. 



50 No Man's Friend 

Yet here is your sort of man 

Thinks he has the master plan 
By which to trick as he shall choose, 

Small matter you, if you win or lose! 
One kind of man who likes to think 

Right is tricked by puff and wink! 
Watch him thresh his wings to a blot 

Like flies trapped in a treacle-pot! 

Partners were we, 

I and he. 
To hew down pine or tamarack. 

Half to have our guineas back, 
Half for the profit 

And lordliness of it — 
So for sake of such outcome clear 

We were now partners just a year. 

Knowledge was mine of how to do 

The best thing best. 
Of each way to slash or hew 

Cow-oak as it should be drest 
For market for very best, 

While as for him, his whole hold 
Was on his gold, 

To know how worlds are bought and sold. 

My wisdom he must have for gain, 

Or his guineas were in vain ; 
His gold I must have, else I 

Could not match him as man to man 
For profit on the partner-plan — 

That way was it he made bold 
To lend me largely of his gold 

To give me foot and master-hold. 



No Man's Friend 51 

Things in the year went well, 

There was profit to tell, 
Princely luck was about. 

We were satisfied in and out 
And friends too — leastwise I dreamed 

He was noble as he seemed, 
Could not have played me untrue, 

Deep demon too. 

How perfectly a man mad is 

To think he prospers his way 
Of stealing from you your Gladys, 

To think he has nought to pay 
But joy to have done you his worst. 

And not a thought how the thing is curst 
As he sails on to boast his strut 

Like a ship will with a hole in her gut. 

My Gladys was joyful-fair, 

Held hard to each truth, 
Made no quarrel with her care, 

Made the most of love and youth, 
Kept her whole soul for me in sight, 

Bowed to one Monarchy of Right — 
Yet in spite of such sweetness in her 

This wolf-hound thought to trick and win her. 

Bells he copied, so his words 

Should ring like flocks of garden-birds; 
Put the style-angle to each joint, 

Brought his chin-brush to a point. 
His sermon as well. 

For most part to tell 
How fine he was and proper good 

As not another could be or would. 



52 No Man's Friend 

How soon he saw he could not have her 
By chin-points, thin palaver, 
Saw the queen in her, high mind 

To be not in touch with his condor-kind ! 
So now he must show the claw, 

Strike at righteousness and law, 
Brute force bring to his cause 

To show the snow-leopard lynx he was! 

For only next day he demanded 

I pay him, as I owed, in full, 
I undoUared and short-handed — 

There was the heel of the bull ! 
Pay I must, my bond to the letter. 

Else I was shackled in his fetter 
For prisoner, and what better, 

I his penniless poor debtor? 

I in ruin, that way he thought 

My Gladys was to be caught, 
Made to give up her hold 

Of me, to take him for his gold 
And power, as if he could buy 

Love such as hers to die ! 
How well he knew his best hold 

Was his grip of gold! 

How little he knew of love, 

Less than the billing dove! 
More was her heart than ever bound 

To this heart which she had found 
In me, while the more he struggled 

To part us, tricked and juggled, 
And all was said and done. 

There were we the more mightily one! 



No Man's Friend 53 

So he lost her and lost me 

By his leopardy! 
Nor made these two all his losses — 

How certainly one conquering cause is 
Ancestor of many losses ! 

For now he was minus me 
With my sightedness to see 

Lumber- tricks for mastery ; 

Could not send his great mill cashing 

Shingles, for there were slashing 
And chopping to be cunningly done 

And he no knack at it under the sun! 
In just a year, with all his trying, 

Men saw his profits surely dying! 
In two years only, to a day, 

More debts than shingles — nothing to pay ! 

Things make for Right — 

There 's your fight ! 
Nor make for wrong, 

Save for an hour 
To build men strong 

To aquire Power 
By their fight 

To come right. 



SUFFICIT 

Make a sign of the cross ! 

What is it? 
Scratch away more of the moss: 

"Sufficit"; 
Ah me, but the writing is old 

Under the mold, 
As the meaning is new 
And grasses lax 
At their hiding of facts 

Which were few 

Though they sleep 
Where the grave is shoal, meaning deep. 

Tear more grasses away 

At the base; 
Get what dates have to say 

Of the case: 
Thirteen hundred and twenty-two 

Under the dew ! 
Half a cross at the top 
Of a Fleur-de-lis, 
Which is all you could see — 

And they stop 

At the cross 
Who would dig for meaning under the moss. 
54 



Sufficit 55 

Six centuries ago, 

Nearly that, 
Where mountain-peaks grew snow. 

Where their plat 
Laid once one carpet warmish green 

The lap between 
Two summits left and right 
Which shortened up the sun, 
Trained flowers to run. 

Men to fight. 

Lived a king 
Who ruled his country by whip and sting. 

He ruled quite alone 

To his whim ; 
Bent men to crawl to his throne. 

Beg of him 
For leave to marry, leave to pray, 

To work or play ; 
Men and children he knew. 
Knew the half they did 
From bib to lid 

As they grew 

In his grace 
To smirk and wince at his red dead face. 

Armored knights fell to pray 

At his feet, 
All for some love-lady fay 

Proud and sweet, 
Nor dared they to ask for her hand 

Without his command, 
As they bowed to dust 
In their steel cold chain 



56 Sufficit 

At a dread of the reign 

Of his lust, 

For they knew 
He would seize the girl if it pleased him to. 

Two alike brother knights 

And twin-born, 
Who pleaded their wrongs and rights 

To his scorn. 
Bowed down one day to press their cause, 

And the story was : 
They had both made their way 
To a Princess' heart, 
But each suitor apart 

Day and day; 

Neither knew 
The other was pouring his heart out too. 

Being wholly alike, 

Face and frame, 
As much in smile and glike 

As in name. 
She never once knew them apart 

In giving her heart. 
So each had her hand. 
Had her honest word 
His cause should be heard 

By command 

Of the king, 
Who knew first best how to settle the thing. 

"You shall fight," said the king, 

" 'Till the breath 
Of one ceases, fight the thing 

To the death; 



Sufficit 57 

Whichever survives, on my life, 

Shall have her for wife; 
Whichever refuses 
To stab like a man, 
Cut to kill where he can. 

Or chooses 

Not to fight. 
Shall pay for the farce with his head this night." 

They were brothers, were twins, 

Cheek by jowl ; 
To stab to death with steel fins 

Would be foul, 
As foul as his word, which was worse, 

Far worse than his curse; 
If they fought so one fell, 
What pledge could they name 
That the other should claim 

Her as well? 

While beside. 
Who would kill a brother to win a bride? 

At the palace that night 

Was a ball ; 
Old and young danced to delight, 

King and all, 
'Till revel dragged out of the feast 

A king for a beast, 
A man matched to the mire! 
Red wine in gold bowls. 
Like blood dipped into souls 

Made of fire. 

Gave cause 
For a king that night to show what he was! 



58 Sufficit 

"Bring them here, your two brats 

Of one gaze; 
They shall both perish like rats 

In a blaze; 
If kings would love, then no man weds! 

So off with their heads! 
She will do me a while 
With her pheasant's grace, 
Cheek and chin-dimpled face 

And young smile; 

She shall know 
A king may love if she will or no!" 

The three lovers meantime 

Took to horse, 
Struck a path clean through the thyme 

And gorse. 
Over mountain-shaft shot through the snow 

Like an arrow and bow, 
Into valley and farm 
At a fire-bell's pace 
With their lady of grace 

Brave and calm, 

'Till they stood 
Where we stand now, at this edge of the wood. 

A pale moon tumbled red 

On a cloud. 
Half like a blood-spattered head 

In a shroud ; 
Two twin stars, straight as two eyes, 

Looked out of their skies 
'Till a cloud like a cup 
Cut in two, dropping lids 



Sufficit 59 

No light ever thrids, 

Closed them up; 

There was death 
In the night-moon's mist where they drank a breath. 

Here was Fall at the door 

To knock hard: 
Their summer should dance no more 

On the sward; 
One stab of frost and your trees 

Show fight to the knees, 
Snap back, pufT red, stretch their claws! — 
What good will it do 
And they face one or two 

Of God's laws? 

Better go 
By a cut of cold than melt with the snow. 

All the law is severe 

At its best; 
Love shall be put, tear by tear, 

To a test, 
Nor find a way upon earth 

To capture its worth, 
'Though the test be here. 
While he drops your prize 
Who plays victor and dies 

Without fear; 

Who would miss 
A last breath to whisper "A man was this"? 

How a day is made great 

By its end! 
Earth ceases, love is too late 

To contend: 



6o Sufficit 

Beauty comes last and stands first 

And hell do its worst ! 
Who will venture to show 
A path to a flower 
With a sky for a bower? 

And below 

Or above 
Is it not all Beauty to die for love? 

At the castle this night, 

Unconfined, 
Fierce glee struck out full might 

At the wind; 
Red revel strutted, with spew and pitch, 

To the last low ditch ; 
Cups and beakers of gold 
Tipped up, leaned in touch, 
As if they, too, had had too much 
To uphold 
In extremes, 
A king down bellowing in his drunken dreams. 

And just here at this edge 

Of the wood. 
Hand locked to hand for love's pledge. 

Here they stood, 
Two oaks, one vine about both, 

Three souls and one oath; 
The twin stars looked out. 
Two longing wide eyes 
In dumb darkened skies 

Hung about; 

What shall hide 
A look from the deeps when soul is bride? 



Sufficit 6i 

Over there the mad whirl 

Of a torch 
Blazed out on their swill and swirl 

Of debauch, 
While here, to one wail of a mort, 

These gentle ones wrought 
From the rot in a king 
Such fine streaks as lie 
Where young May-clouds must die 

In their spring, 

As violets leap 
To pick their bloom from a dunghill's heap. 

Here, just here in this waste 
Where we stand. 

They died, nor scarce took a taste 
In the land 

Of life, as here just they dropped 
Like blue-bells are cropped 

By a pinch of frost 

When the sun is gone, 

As a breath is born 
To be lost- 
Here they died 

Where spoonfiowers feast and the rain-birds bride. 

Here together they died 

Hand in hand ; 
Here have they slept, side by side, 

By command 
Of the king ; while those who would know 

How the world is so. 
Why it fails at the top, 
What Beauty is wove 



62 Sufficit 



If men perish for love, 

They will stop 

At the cross 
To look for meaning abov^ the moss. 



MAN AND BIRD 



One melody-bird struck his notes to play 
Into my window by open day 
As if to say: 

"I sing — you never sing! 

I pipe my soul into shrills 
Would make the eagle dip his wing 
To listen — you mumble your ills 
Over the way, 

Most as men have done alway, 
As if this soul were of shotted clay ! 



"I tie to my tree, 
You look up to me! 
Did I drop to your earth 
For its angle worm- worth, 
'T was that I might stomach me 
To rise again to stick to my tree 

To whiffle my vago-note 
Lip never caught, man never wrote, 
My home in my tree-top air 

For what is fair. 
You to your gizzard and gulp of care I 
63 



64 Man and Bird 



"Castle your brain 
Against the rain, 
Coddle you warm 
Against the storm, 
While I, all spirit I, 
Make nests in the sky, 
In forests of fingers, my spars 

To point me to the stars. 
To show me my way to defy 
What you hold to be worst. 
One sentence that all must die. 
As if a decree of God could be curst ! 



IV 



"You plough the earth, 
I plough the air! 
Say, what is it worth, 
Your ground-owl share, 
Matched with my birth 
In the spirit-air, 
Your earthworm earth 
Like a deluge of dearth 
In your field of care? 

Up to the winds I am singing. 
Out on the winds I am free 

To my sky to be clinging. 
To my highmost to see 

What Beautjr is singing. 
Is ringing in me 

To be up to be kinging 
Eternity! 



Man and Bird 65 



"You duck, you quail 
At the wind-shot hail 
As if craving 

A place you may sleep in, 
Half a rat-hole to creep in 
To be saving 

Your pelt from the sting of a sliver, 

Your soul from a quiver! 

Have a look to me 

In my open tree : 

Storm after storm shall shelter me, 

Each blast of a mad-cap night 

To load me with might ! 

What storm shall down me to death 

And I rise on its breath? 

VI 

"How wonderful the trees are. 
Much as your Christ or Caesar 

To do their part ! 
They capture the wealth of earth 

By each fine-fingered art. 
Silver-leaf, pear-gold worth. 
Anything to give Beauty birth, 
To lift it away from you 
So you must climb to capture it too. 
Must look up to get the goldenly blue ! 

VII 

"To the trees 

In their limbs of wings 

To make my song as I please! 

Hope whistles and rings. 



66 Man and Bird 

Thought everywhere sings 

More than the bread and bone of things, 

More than your hog-ox browsing 

In stubble or leasow, 

More than pelt and belly-housing — 

As if what I seem to see must be so ! 



"Up to the winds I am singing, 
Out on the winds I am free 

To my sky to be clinging, 
To my highmost to see 

What Beauty is singing, 
Is ringing in me 

To be up to be kinging 
Eternity!" 



IN THE NATURE OF THINGS 

There 's a nature of things ! 

I see it where I look 
Into sky or nook! 

From a planet's rings 
To a bubble's wings, 

Whether in or out 
Of a soul or snout, 

There 's the certain subtle nature of things! 

What say, will you doubt me that? 

Have an eye to the summer gnat 
To see him poking and raking at 

Life as you do, yet he comes 
To life just where the sunbeam drums, 

And so he wallops and hums ! 

There 's a nature of things 

In a cow-boy gait ! 
As he loafs or springs 

He is early or late 
At his task, while so, 

As things come and go, 
He makes his way by force 

Of his level best in the natural course. 

Beauty is everywhere I look, 

In a crow-horn song, in the dipper's flook, 
Beauty to come to on your own hook, 
67 



68 In the Nature of Things 

You to stay there to wield your power 
Like a star does, like a passion flower, 

And you make what of it but you 
Capture the Power and Beauty too? 

Once was this fine story told 

In Pembroke, as men grew old, 
Liked each evening to tell 

How pure goodness went well. 
How evil came to nought. 

How Beauty is wrought 
By conflict, — and so 

By one evening ember-glow 
This story came to a pitch and go: 

By one sweet-fern bank of the sea, 

Where sumac coddles the wild pea. 
Where the gray sea eagle overhead 

Takes one blue cloud for his bed. 
Lived once brother and sister together — 

Never men asked a question whether 
Or how far they loved each other — 

Never were such sister and brother 
So heart-bound to one another 

As they lived, each one to do 
What the other fancied most. 

Each to the other that kind and true 
'Till each in the other was wholly lost. 

What a wonder-thing 

In the world to see 
Is the love I sing, 

Is the soul to be 
All the best it is, 

All the rest to miss 



In the Nature of Things 69 

Nor a whimper fling! 

Just the royal ring 
Of a soul for king 

Is the soul I sing! 

Brother and sister, just they alone, 

No others but were dead and gone! 
Each day came as each day went, 

Rose-red topped the firmament 
Of love each morning and night, 

Each kept the other first in sight, 
Each to do the choice royallest thing 

Would put the other to leap and sing. 
Scarce would he leave her to go her way 

Apart from him a part of a day, 
But he must have her at stop and start — 

So was she bound in his true wide heart. 

Stop to think a bit 

Of the love of it. 
Of the way they had 

Which was high and glad, 
Of the heart they knew 

Which was human true 
To an end of thought. 

And it mattered not 
What they lost or got 

As the world-way goes 
Or the grub- worm knows, 

Only this to think. 
There is love to keep 

As a planet's wink 
Drops never to sleep. 



70 In the Nature of Things 

There is love to do, 
There is love to be 

What is noblest true 
Eternally! 

Lovers came — there she listened 

Under her moon-magic sky, 
Eyes as twin stars glistened 

Right as h-er soft long sigh 
Whispered: " Love is a thing to keep, 

Love which is full and true; 
More is there not to reap. 

Less is there not to do 
Than hold to love which is best — 

There 's the plain way manifest!" 
Loved she so the brother more 

Than any one of her handsome score 
Of lovers, as each one came 

To coax her by his breath of flame, 
There grew small use to tease her — 

Never a man in the world could please her. 

So the brother — not once he thought 

Of maiden, nor ever knew 
If a sweet girl eyed him or not. 

So was his heart to the sister true 
As this, that he let them pass, 

Each pretty smiling longing lass. 

'T was thus they loved each other so 
One scarce could let the other go, 

Yet each would say: "Let love be best! 
If you be wholly happiest 



In the Nature of Things 71 

To love another beside me, 

So I would have it, so let it be!" 

Each day went and came with them 

Much as it will with others. 
Love each day dangled like a gem 

Above life's littlesome mock bothers ; 
So grew the heart large for kind doing, 

Much as the spirit-end of things 
Makes for nobling and truing. 

High as deep heaven pitches and swings! 

They showed their soul in the world their way, 

They had the gem of a thing to say 
For couragement to me or you, 

They found the best was the blest to do 
And did it and loved it too ; 

Never once thought of what they lost 
By any way men count the cost. 

Only one purpose of heart and mind, 
Just to be true and kind 

And high inclined. 

What a thing is this 

I see each day. 
Each new precipice 

Just a higher way 
For me to climb 

To my point sublime, 
Every inch I lose 

Just a foot to gain, 
Eagle peaks to choose 

Or the under-plain 
For an undertow 

Where I trip, and so 



72 In the Nature of Things 

Where I learn the land, 

Where I learn to stand, 
Where I take command! 

One full evening, as men have said. 

Never they saw the moon so red. 
Grinding through a dome of scud, 

As I would say, like a wheel of blood. 
People came as before and went 

Their ways — there was livenment 
To hear the sea-swash run trebles. 

See lovers play for luck at pebbles 
And lips — I remember how two 

Made the most of it in the mist. 
Cheek to cheek, oh how they kissed 

And coiled in each other's arms for true, 
Not as brothers and sisters do, 

But there they sat in the sand, 
Heart in throat, hand in hand 

As brothers and sisters know not of, 
All another kind of love. 

What a thing it is 

In the world to know 
There waits for you a kiss 

If you come or go; 
Always a smile 

At your door for you, 
Always a heart 

To the fore for you, 
Always an eye 

Like a spot of sky 
Looking true and high, 

Never room about 



In the Nature of Things 73 

For a taste of doubt 

But your world is. fair 
And you get your share 

If such love be there ! 

Just that evening, by strange hap, 

Right as sister and brother eyed 
Where the two lovers cooed and sighed, 

Came to their door such gentle tap 
As might have been the passing rap 

Of a wren — never was heard 
Softer sound when leaves are stirred, 

As entered the cottage, little daunted. 
One little woman, so very old 

Each cheek looked blighted and cold. 
As if her very soul were haunted 

With winter — like sorrow-pits her eyes 
Oozed water always, as if they wept 

By habit and never slept. 
Neither widened nor looked wise. 

As there before brother and sister she planted 
Knees down, hands up as if to pray, 

Then half sermoned, half chanted 
This tale, and you shall say 

If she did wrong to speak that day: 

"Your god-father" (she spoke 

To the brother now) 
"One day awoke, 

God knows how, 
To find in a nest 

In an autumn bough 
Two infants, twins, 

At their very best, 



74 In the Nature of Things 

By pinnacle-chins 

Of dimples blest, 
Eyes of a kind 

To swallow such light 
As leaves men blind 

Or crippled in sight, 
So you would say 

They were eyes to see 
Like stars at play 

In immensity. 
Beautiful they. 

These twins were now, 
As there they lay 

In their autumn bough. 
And such smiles at play 

You would marvel how 
They were cast away 

In a jack-oak bough, 
As if leaves were wings. 

Knew a way to fly 
Beyond mortal things 

By some highway high, 
Bore these cherubs up 

Like a cradle-cup 
To their breast of sky 

Ere they learned to die. 
There they lay, such new 

Twin sisters one day, 
Yet none ever knew 

How they flew that way. 
Now your father came. 

Bore them lightly down. 
Gave them his name, 

Called them his own 



In the Nature of Things 75 

His bachelor way ; 

Never child had he known 
In the world to say 

'Father.' So they grew 
Wise and gentle too, 

Yet the father saw 
How men hunger for 

One son and heir 
All their soul to share, 

All their gold-heap care. 
Mother was I 

Of twenty sons. 
Never daughter to eye 

Like a sun-bee runs 
To his rose to sigh, 

To his sweets to die, 
So one day I said 

To your father this : 
' Give me instead 

Of a son to miss 
Your Beatrice, 

And the profit is 
A daughter to me, 

And a son to you — 
There 's a point to see. 

And a thing to do!' 
Nor sooner said 

Than I brought you here, 
Took the girl instead 

To my heart to rear ! 
There you have it now. 

Just the whole truth how, 
By such sweet cabal, 

You were both made one. 



76 In the Nature of Things 

How the thing was done, 

And you not brother and sister at all ! " 

What a curious thing now that thing is to tell ! 

Just a look — they were brother and sister no more — 
One could see the spirit in their eyes jump and swell 

As heart leaped to heart now as never before, 
Face lost in face at one clasp and forever, 

Lips fastened as if they would unfasten never. 
As there by the nature of things I could learn 

How Beauty is Power, Power is Beauty in turn; 
How, just by the nature of things, what is Right 

Makes headway and one proper day comes to light 
By the genius of Beauty and Kingdom of Right! 

There now as he held and kissed her, 
Man and wife, not brother and sister, 

Came the thought. What a subtle thing 
Right is with its Beauty-wing 

To couch in one winter-bush unseen, 
Hatch the white iris and God's green 

Out of a winter's tooth and spleen 
To come to such power by spring 

As puts purple eyes in an orange wing 
To fly where Beauty is endless King. 

All their best in the world they had done; 
More is not known under the sun; 

Took to each other for mighty love, 
Brother and sister, nought above. 

Never a gain were they thinking of 
Save to love and hang close, each to each. 

As red cheeks hang to my morning peach, 
As there they waited, not once thinking 



In the Nature of Things 77 

How love laughed at them and was winking 
Their way, and he set the trap, 

Never slip-up or mishap. 
They in their own goodness caught 

Right where they hoped and heeded not, 
To show how Right, like a plover's wings, 

Rises to flight by the nature of thing's. 

As you see and I, 

God is in His sky 
Not to rule by fear. 

Not to rule at all. 
But the world is here 

At your beck and call 
If you strike to do, 

As is meant you should, 
For the most in you 

For eternal good, 
For all Beauty there 
In the ball of air 
That you get your share, 

Nor you fall aside 
Where the pit is wide 

And your hands are tied — 
There 's your light and shade 

As the world is made, 
While not the Lord Final King of Kings 
Changes ever his nature of things. 



PEARL 

Try a hand at it once, 

Try a month of hunts, 
Then tell me if you have found a girl 
Half like my honest gentle Pearl 
In her teens 
And greens! 

Hunt the world over you. 
Try moon-spaces too 
To see if you find a lip like hers 

To whisper as the glee-bird stirs 
At her nest 
And best! 

I know I heard you say. 

In a flippant way, 
I am older than she is by half I 

So much the more I love her laugh 
With its tune 
Of June! 

So much the more is she 

All aglow to me 
By what I see in her leaping heart, 
Such joy as never knew an art, 
With her leaven 
Of Heaven. 
78 



Pearl 

And so because of you 
Who love her too, 
I am to lose her, for you are young, 

You are to cling where I have clung 
In my sway 
And day. 

You think you love her indeed, 

Have a heart in need, 
The fury of passion to have and hold! 
I may not love, since I am old. 
Have a stoop 
And droop. 

Have you once thought of this. 

How these arms will miss 
The sweet soul they were clinging to 
Before she came to know of you 
At your gloze 
And pose? 

I am to know no more, 

As always before, 
A touch of her lip, her eye to look 
Sky-scenes, like a rested brook 
Gathers haze 
And blaze. 

You are to give her now, 
In the lip and brow, 
Your kiss, while I am to let her go! 
I am too old to love her so 
For her arm 
And palm. 



79 



8o Pearl 

For her dimples and chin 

And her satin skin ! 
Is love, then, only a power to see. 

Something which means to die in me 
For the lack 
Of back? 

Her soul and mine are one 

All sides of the sun, 
Grew so the very day she was born 
To me from yonder coast of dawn 
For my guide 
And bride. 

So you take her to your care, 

But you hear me swear 
She '11 not give you her love which is mine 
More than the stars give up their shine 
To these flocks 
Of rocks! 

Lover and loved and so 

You may try to know 
Only what the world would have you think, 
How love is but the passion's wink, 
Or a breath 
Of death. 

Am I, her father, then. 

But the least of men, 
Now you have taken away from me 
Only what I may touch and see 
By my mite 
Of light? 



Pearl 8 1 

Her father! Now you know 

How I love her so, 
As you could not, so my truth appears. 
Take my place in her smiles and tears 
In the climb 
Of time. 

You loved her first to-day 

Your swamp-robin way; 
I loved her when she could claim, God knows. 
Little more than hands and toes, 
Scarce a jot 
Of thought. 

Take her, have her to keep. 

While I drop asleep! 
More is her soul than you know or guess. 
Was not made to grow less and less 
Like her eyes 
And size. 

More she shall be to me 

Than you now may see; 
More she shall grow as her tan cheeks die, 
More is one life than all the sky 
Now I know 
Her so, 

Now I know and for truth 
Soul is least in youth ; 
Whittles the nose thin, stops up the eyes 
To get a new other kind of size 
Than all thought 
Has wrought. 



82 Pearl 

Have her — my love is best — 
You may have the rest, 
For best must win in the long-time run, 
Soul is more than is under the sun — 
So I climb 
As I chime! 



KNOW THYSELF 



Ods-bobs, but how he could write! 

You could see him that way all day writing 

Into the night-deep — wrong or right 

Neither here nor there, he sent that kiting 

With his stocks he stocked and mightied by his writing. 



"Puffs" and "ads" are what he wrote, 
Which sting and steal, noiseless as a padder, 
Prick poison in to suck blood out. 
Wind-galled, bloated as a bladder — 
So there you have your genuine puff-adder! 

Ill 

"Thistle" is good, not because 
It is good, but just because he said it; 
Aside from righteousness's laws 
He could put whole gold-heaps to your credit- 
So he tickled the public paunch and fed it. 



One by one his patrons grew 
Apace in the world, came rich and mighty 
By doing as he told them to, 
Bought dog low, sold out when it was flighty — 
So he made the market bloom, so made it blighty. 
83 



84 Know Thyself 

V 

Discontent came now he saw 
How others prospered by his flying, 
His own small all he sweated for 
Enough just to keep him sighing, lying 
To send his Thistle enterprises flying. 

VI 

So said he, "and why not I 

To richen and let the others scribble? 

I tire of supping on a sigh, 

Of taking life in by the nibble 

And my disciples there plump gut and bibble.' 



Next day this thing caught his eye: 
" 'Nettle' shares net forty by the showing. 
Price as low as dividend is high. 
Fortunes for the asking most — no crowing 
Is this, so up to pluck and get you going!" 



Why not buy? — The thing is new: 

Never he heard of it before ; 

Reads so as if it must be true; 

The more he reads to figure, score by score, 

The more he likes it — never heard of it before. 



Down pockets for all he had — 

Price is low, as stock exchanges quote it! 

He '11 stake his luck on 't, good or bad, 

— Luck is all a split ship needs to float it — 

And the lie was all his own — he cooked and wrote it! 



PETER ROUBLEMINT 

One way is to get the most of things, 
Another to get the most of you — 

Which would you say the more profit brings, 
Or which were nobler of the two, 

You to make the most of the world, 

Or the world to make the most of you? 

Little comes to us to think 

Each way out, which were best. 

Or put it to the test, 

So much somehow most men shrink 

From doing their sovereign best 

For no kind of greed-gain manifest. 

Being better a man shall make 

Most of him than he stuff his craw 
For pastime or gullet's sake, 

I see this perfect equation-law: 
Let a man do his worst. 

He is conquered from the first- 
Here 's a story once was told 

Puts this plain truth manifold : 
My man was the groundling-man. 

Built his soul on the ground-floor plan 
So to get close to earth 

To tap its gold and melon-worth 
85 



86 Peter Roublemint 

Pie-fly fashion — he knew how 

Life is all stomach and all now 

Or never, this world to be got 

And swallowed like an apricot, 

His masterpiece of a job. 

Since man is equipped to gnaw and mob, 

Nimblesome fingers to dig for gold 

The tree-root way to keep his hold. 

So down he went under ground, 
Bored and burrowed into clay, 

Hung to his purpose night and day 

By the tooth and purpose of a hound. 

Soon his sky was dullard earth, 

Mud-bank heaven, sand for cloud, 

Nor look-up nor pimple worth 
Of light, so down he bowed 

To worm, to wrestle and root. 

Since gold is always under foot. 

Nought above him, sky shut out 
And sunbeam-night, each gentle pout 

A tulip or jack-oak has. 
Freshets of stars no more overhead 

To play their fountains in the grass, 
His all about him the same as dead, 

His was just jacknasty life, 
Peoplehood he left behind. 

This soul-flower, petals of heart and mind. 
For gold only, so now his strife 

Was digging pit into pit 
For gold and for more and more of it. 



Peter Roublemint 87 

Gold overhead, gold underneath, 
Gold only to bite and breathe. 

Here or there one touch of shine, 
Never sky-look nor touch divine 

Like I see in a single star 
To point me ever never so far. 

There he was in for no way out, 
The one path back to light he lost, 

So now began to count the cost 
When leisure took him to look about — 

He had compassed an earth-right. 
But where in earth was his birthright? 

His fields he left behind, 

White syringa sky-inclined — 
Down in the west his scarlet sun 

Shows nought is ended or begun, 
For there just over the way 

Is always another different day — 

His popinjay-bird jumping to sing 

He could have no more — those days were gone 
When a bugle of a throat is born 

To make his lilac morning ring 
For the heart in it and soul — 

White heaven tied to a rose's bole. 

Behind him were dimples in the sea, 
White new pebbles, sparks of sand 

For mottos of eternity 

To show how Soul is in sight and hand — 

Yet once he grew so gold-inclined 
All his best else was put behind, 



88 Peter Roublemint 

Even her high-minded look 

She gave him before he descended, 

The girl whose soul was one welfare-book 
Of Beauty which is never ended, 

Her cheek of the sun-apple glow. 

Who lost him and who loved him so. 

See how a man who fixes his goal 

Of gold or somewhat other to get 

Contrives, after all, just to find his soul 
By very means of hindrance and let, 

For look to see now how this groundling 
Found himself to be a foundling ! 

He dug his pit in the ground. 
Gold above him and around 

To where he could fasten his hold 

On nought save just his tomb of gold! 

Will you then say 't is a law 

Man catches but what he angles for? 

But look once to a wider look: 
More is outside than in your book ! 

Late in his day he grew to discover 
He lost flower and field and lover, 

Lost the pure sky overhead 
Of green ribbons and pompous red, 

His frog-lake where as boy 
Soul was synonym for joy 

As up his hill he flew 
To where his zinnias bowled him blue 

Or yellow to tempt him to know 
Man is greatest to conquer and grow; 



Peter Roublemint 89 

For shall he count his cost, 
Taking only what he lost? 

Certain is one truth so plain, 
There 's no loss but counts me gain; 

Not a human kind of cross is 
But yields more than any loss is. 

Four fingers to a cross, and true 
One points down, while the other two 

Show the world east and west to you. 
Yet one last finger points you straight 

To zeniths of worlds, all not as great 
As man is by his soul-estate. 

Out of sight, underground. 

Piece by piece his soul he found 
By way of one truth multifold: 

Value in him, not in his gold, 
Is what a man comes to find 

Who tries to leave himself behind. 

By way of what he lost 

And its double cost; 
By means of what he saw 

Life is all intended for, 
Deep down underground 

Digging for gold his soul he found. 



NOW AND THEN 

Once again we are men ! 
No sun may set from these hills up here 

Where the top is clear; 
Foul dust of streets may not sail on an air 

Which rolls up above care ; 
As boys we were friends in suns and rains 

And play on the plains; 
What then, shall this digging and pigging for gold 

Part the ways now we 're old? 

Part the ways and days? 
You were captain then, stood sharp upon guard 

At the hilt of a sword, 
While I shouldered arms to take to the ranks; 

Only boys at their pranks? 
But we took you to heart, pushed you up 

From the ranks to the top ; 
No envy ! Not the pout of a whimper then, 

Just before we were men. 

Only boys at their toys? 
Well — is it the width of a stride or span 

Which marks you a man? 
The cock of a hat or length of head 

Or troops you have led? 
90 



Now and Then 91 

As boys we were brave — neither sham nor show — 

A look and a blow, 
But no flinching nor low mean malice then 

Just before we were men. 

What a march through the arch 
Of laurel and pine in our knuckled hills ! 

Only boys at their drills? 
There was battle, too, but the cutting was kind. 

Many a clip at the wind; 
See them fire to fall back, now the long-boots come, 

At the whip of a drum! 
Yet no blood was dropped; no killing was then 

Just before we were men. 

Perhaps then we were men, 
Have grown less and less from then until now; 

Who shall say why or how? 
Noble manhood then, larger and true, 

'Though the days were but few. 
Is such not the glory of one great hour 

Of love at its power: 
"Call them to come to me once again 

Just before they are men?" 

To war and the fore 
You took up your march down the way of life. 

Gentle war to the knife! 
Soul-wrapped were you in your science of drilling* 

For the art of killing, 
While I took to tapping the earth for its mould, 

The truth for its gold; 
What then, shall a difference of thought part the ways, 

Part the ways and days? 



92 Now and Then 

Be friend to the end! 
These days are few ; they were never but few, 

All the days old and new; 
Through fury of wars and storms without harm 

We are out in a calm ; 
Your hand, old friend, let 's trudge on together, 

Nor ask "why" or "whether"; 
Cheek by jowl, if just for the love we had then, 

Let 's be men once again ! 



GOLGOTHA 



Skulls ! Now, there, look there, 
Out of the sink and every book there. 

In under my grate. 
Over each window the bone-white pate 

Of a skull — through my door 
They poke to grin as never before, 
One junket of skulls — look you to think 
Of those eye-pits peering out under the sink 

And not a wink! 

My college-chum, see 
How they jaw-widen to mock at me 

Out clean to the street! 
My college-room fire grew hot and fleet. 

Light flew out, night flew in — 
There now they gape like a look of sin. 
Larger and smaller, some come crescent. 
With all to one spread of grin incessant 

To no point pleasant! 

Each new night it was so. 
But one such night, I would have you know, 

As I watched the grate 
I tried to ponder, to dig my pate 
93 



94 Golgotha 

To uncloset the thing, 
To try to know what good they could bring, 
What curse, perchance, in each heavy jaw 
Of a bone-bottled head, what bodiless law 

They pleaded for. 

The owl-hour, understand. 
Now ciphered one by one thin cold hand 

As I fetched two clips 
At a clinker stuck between the lips 

Of my grate, when, one head. 
One you would know for a long time dead, 
One, too, I thought I knew before 
In a match at nouns where I lost the score, 

Put eyes to the floor, 

Put eyes to me. 
Or pits of black where eyes should be 

With "Friend, there is cold 
Clean through me, I was not wholly souled; 

My song men took to heart 
Nor saw one trick of my tricksy art ; 
Kick the coals to rouse a tinder. 
Pack me snug to a sunny cinder — 

I was Pindar! 

"Look you, now, this head! 
I have it still for soul instead; 

My fine thought took flight, 
Soared to Parnassus' temple-height. 

Flew to you down the ages — 
Could you keep warm between the pages 
Of skulls? — look there how your boots are full 
Of skulls to lug, and you play the fool 

In your skull-school ! 



Golgotha 95 

"See I now, full view, 
How they would make such fool of you: 

There 's Plato under sink 
Who taught a wide world how to think, 

Such hanging brow I guess 
The whole of him was one skullishness 
For thinking only — he makes you feel 
Your whole heart is put under heel 

And under seal ! 

"Skulls, for love of God! 
There in your slop-tub and rubbish-hod 

Are skulls, sickish white, 
Looking to you out of pits of night 

The skull-look, wholly head. 
As wholly, too, hard and cold and dead 
Now night tingles and the wind lulls 
As there in your ceiling like groups of gulls 

Are skulls and skulls! 

"They did their best, past doubt, 
Began the world, had to think it out. 

And good or bad. 
Just their cold skull was all they had 

To clear a path for you. 
You to make nobler than what they knew 
Who yet were not grown to such spirit-part 
As would make the world over, by every art, 

Into one great heart 

"To throb in tune — in tune 
With no skull-song, but with leafy June 

Of rose-moss lip 
Which will not let the bush-end slip 



96 Golgotha 

But puts one blossom there 
To prove how life is sweet and fair 
As death, 'though rooted into sod, 
Will pink and laugh and pout and wither and nod. 

Stand straight as a God. 

"A place of skulls, your school, 
Skull for ruler, skulls to rule 

For building head up high, 
Small matter if the finer part should die 

So men may keep their head, 
A casket where spirit lieth dead. 
For see in each bone-box if you can 
One trick of thought which could prove you a man 

On the highest plan!" 



I sat me by the fire this night, 

Pythagoras, Pindar, Plato too, 

To wonder if they could be right 

That man in the world must be brainful bright 

To prosper or get his due; 
To wonder if thinking were the best 
A man may do — if to force his way 
By Skullhood against the rest 
Must mark his generation best 

Or noblest, as they say; 
To wonder if to gain an end 
Over one brother of weaker mould 
Could count me so high-citizened 
As if I held him for a friend 

To let him keep his hold 
On littler purposes, keep my power 



Golgotha 97 

To overmatch him fast in check 
That he might gain on me each hotir, 
Forget once how to mewl or cower, 

We to travel neck and neck; 
To wonder if the thing were right 
I swing such power because I can 
For being born to over-might 
In broader brow, keener sight, 

And the end in view a man ; 
To wonder if the world must come 
To this, that skull shall have first place 
To strike the soul-power dumb. 
Put it off with half a crumb. 

He best who shall win the race; 
To wonder if such hard cold thought 
As rules men so like a jailer's rod, 
This thinking-cap so dearly bought 
For best, so hard and wholly sought, 

Be truly a part of God; 
To wonder shall a man not share 
One divine breath by being great 
Enough to never have a care 
To put his skull-skill top, to fare 

Better than a brother-mate; 
To wonder if after all is said 
And done to college-pump it full. 
This pig-eyed button-pocket head 
Ever one instant pocketed 

The high overwhelming soul — 
When, right from one comer, ill at ease 
To do his best, as such best can. 
Came lantern-eyed Diogenes, 
At his wit's end, down on hands and knees. 

Still looking for a man. 



98 Golgotha 



Right as I sat me thinking, 
To wonder, to try to make it out. 
Knew the highest best thought is born of doubt, 
While I sat brewing, bHnking, 

Came there out of my curtain 
Which hung in the window, folded back 
Like a fustanelle by a fancy new knack. 

Two steps put soft and certain ; 

Two eyes, and they were blinking ; 
Two hands, like May in a spoonwood-bush. 
Put out as if they were trying to push 

The skulls off and their thinking; 

Two words — the lips were parted — 
Two small new words I had never known, 
Which hugged her lips as sapphires hug a throne, 
Soul-haunted and spark-hearted: 

"I love" — right there she rested 
Till I could pluck up my thought to know 
How the words shot forth their summer glow 
To pin me, winter-breasted ; 

To know, too, of their meaning. 
Of her, of her sweet new tulip-lip 
A man could not mean to ever let slip, 

Her and her quiet queening. 

"I love" — the words came ringing 
So through me I could not think to tell 
If they were not some supersensuous bell 

Choked off by its own sweet singing. 



Golgotha 99 

" I love the bell-berry flying 
Free right and left in a slapping wind, 
But better the broom-flower which has been thinned, 
Stripped and left to its dying. 

"I love the Oregon steeping 
His wooded waste in his wedded song. 
Or the rek of a log-cock all my day long 

To put me dreaming, sleeping ; 

"So love I, too, for fancy 
My loon and his night-cry pitiful, 
The mouth of a wheatear ditiful, 

Moons at their necromancy; 

' * Love I the icicle pointed 
Like a keen forefinger straight to earth 
As if to show how all ways of worth 

Are deep down and disjointed; 

"But more than these I treasure 
My poverty-bird with not a song 
From his red sad heart all the white day long, 
Him and his little measure; 

"More, too, I love my grasses 
Which blush not nor lift up one sweet breath, 
This bay-leaf which flutters so near to death 
Right when each August passes; 

' ' More I love the rose-chafer 
Digging to coop in his bumble-den 
With only a taste of sun here and then, 
Life thin as a wafer. 



Golgotha 

" Here, now, comes my reason 
I value to love them so much more 
Than choir-birds which run the whole happy score 
Of June-tunes just in season: 

"Give me my chance to listen, 
I put an ear to a finch in tune 
Or a nonpareil pinned to a leaf of June — 

Oh, how they trip and glisten! 

"I put an eye in summer 
To watch my jenneting turn a cheek 
Of such scarlet to me as wants to speak 
For once to one new-comer; 

"So come I to such thrilling 
As slips through every knot and nerve 
Which summer will rapture beyond reserve 
Of throat or finger-spilling; 

"But what of that fine stronger 
Keen frenzy which comes of no eye at all, 
Of no ear, of no perch in the skull or gall. 
Comes later to stay longer? 

"Comes where there goes no listening. 
Will track a sea-pigeon to love him more 
For his pauper-throat and his lonesome shore 

And black wing and no glistening? 

"What save a breath of spirit 
To see and feel without use of eyes 
How my world gets a smalling pit-end size 
The nearer I come near it? 



Golgotha loi 

"For what the world is lacking 
I love it more than for what it gives; 
More for one that dies than for all that lives 
Is heart-break and soul-racking. 

"Shall I not know the better 
Fine highest first best of me that speaks 
For more than these fly-leaps in days and weeks, 
Live soul up to the letter? 

"What you fear to be missing 
Is flesh-pots, the blood-hot puff of lip 
For wallowing to come to another sip 
Of my cooing and kissing. 

"Just there you stop — no growing 
Of love to be greater, like love can, 
To round a man out to be perfect man 

Whether this skull be knowing 

"Or not — mark you my meaning: 
Your college-place is the place of a skull 
Where soul may die down, heart part may dull 
So skull shall be gleaning 

"Of other skulls their treasure 
To build you a brain to make your way 
Up to nerve-tingle and gold to pay 

For pleasure still and pleasure. 

"I look for love to be holding 
More than it shows or may think to feel, 
Like a bell has more song than it can peal, 

Like sweet chokes yellow golding. 



Golgotha 

"I look for love which prizes 
Nor taste nor touch nor your gold about — 
Will not the lark put the planet out 

Of his heart when he rises? 

"I look to love to be springing 
High as space — there is Plato there, 
Brain bulged out, so much more than his share, 
While to him you are clinging. 

"Better you take my judging: 
You may not bunch up soul in a book, 
Nor pack it away in your coppice-nook 
To be budging, snudging, 

' ' Nor keep it to you for shelving 
To hand to me or another there 
Now I see how spirit is wondrous fair 

Beyond lipping or selving, 

"Beyond loving or lothing, 
Save that this love longs to bear away 
From what is only the earth-worm way 
Of coming to nothing." 



Yes, she was right, I could see, 

Right as right could be ; 

But what of this bubble-up of youth, 

Never a handful of heed, 

Ever an armful of greed, 

Nor cares one swish for a swash of truth? 

I could not bear away from her 

And her hand there, the tiny hand 

To point so much I could understand, 



Golgotha 103 

To droop down like a Concord-leal 

To win and master me past belief; 

So from her hand to beyond the wrist 

Where the arm bends in as if to float 

Some spring-song, like a swallow's throat, 

I listened for and only missed 

For lack of a finer ear to snare 

What subtle rapture nested there. 

The place was rough as any college. 

Hands in for digging out old knowledge; 

Men forgot how what is truth 

Is fine always, age or youth; 

One troop of skulls now omniform 

Huddled about the grate like rows 

Of knowledge, the kind which knows, 

To look to coals to keep them warm; 

I knew this parlor-trick tribe 

Of thought-jugglers, knew their way 

Of skull-building to prescribe 

Themselves, by song or play. 

When, take them for good or for bad. 

Just their tough skull was all they had. 

So was it I knew the sleek 

Quick way to a maiden's heart 

Lay through her cherry-lip and cheek. 

For you may know I learned my part. 

Right at an edge of the window-ledge 

Was swinging one branch of orange-flower, 

Much as the tongue of a clock gives pledge 

To tell, yet will not tell you, the hour. 

This I twisted from its stalk — 

I knew the flower-power to command. 

Such silent mouthful of sweeted talk, 

So put it in her locket-hand 



I04 Golgotha 

To close on, so she might understand 

How I, too, meant to be there 

For prisoner in her fiower-hand fair. 

Words I could sparkle like skies 

To dangle in her ears and eyes ; 

Could treble notes to the zenith-tips 

Keen as a pair of Pindar-lips. 

Had I not learned in my time 

How the flesh-and-blood way is first 

In this world — soul at its worst 

Will scent the blood-line in case of thirst, 

Cock up an ear for a drink of chime. 

She was no more than just this flesh 

Of robin-warmth to be caught 

Napping, let me spread my mesh 

With cunning of the clap-trap sort 

For women, smile and sweet surprise 

To trick them like a school of flies ! 

Beside, did I not love her then and there 

The way men love, for her chin and hair 

And brow-scowl and little waist 

And fingers and ribbon-taste? 

What better, or what were they 

Save soul-shape pricking through the clay? 

Down we sat on the floor 

The skulls among, grate before ; 

Her hand I held — next I drew her 

So to me we were cheek on cheek ; 

Than hers never heart was truer, 

While not one word she would speak, 

So I caught her cheeks 'twixt finger and thumb 

To squeeze one shy word out of its close 

'Til her lips grew to one young wild rose 

I held there, scarlet and dumb. 



Golgotha 105 

Kept their secret, never a sound 

To whisper to the world around 

But me only — there they came, 

Caught my kisses as any flower 

Tucks a lip up to take the shower. 

Dew-fall, summer-sigh, forked flame- 

My face I darkened in her hair, 

While underneath where the pearl neck hid 

As if that part of her were forbid, 

I fastened my lips and longing there, 

My fingers at her temples and face, 

I rained such kisses in her eyes 

As drew their starlight, took my place 

Alternate at her throat and lip 

To see to it not a sigh should rise. 
To let not one small whisper slip. 
Held her, arms out, both arms 'round 
And fastened and so securely bound 
I thought, as truth it seemed, that she 
Was part of the very soul of me. 
There she lay in my two hands 
As a young bird, partly tamed, will lie 
• For safeness, but half-way shy. 
One look-off as if to other lands 
And skies — seemed, too, so glad 
I should so love her, but all the while 
Underneath the sunrise smile 
Was one small cloud-look, partways sad, 
To tell me how my way of love 
All for herself to make the most 
Of heart in her and lip and ghost 
Was moth-measure, not enough 
To come to greatness of the sort 
Which makes more mightiness out of worth, 



io6 Golgotha 

Which knows to hold above this earth 
And its sculpin-love, pot-wise thought, 
To come to high best, as such best can. 
One largest keen love of truth and man, 
Soul-upperdom of the stripe to ride 
To soar plump-hearted, get outside 
This your day-podded livelihood. 
This mate-love by which men brood 
For a day's chuckle and a pint of good, 
So to wing-broaden to make escape 
From this bone-mould and finger-fuss 
Which pot us to one certain shape. 
All minimy to play minnow-ape, 
Rough-govern men as an incubus. 
Such was her look, which was all there 
In her lip-shut and splendid stare. 
So, 'though I held her to me fast 
In arms — never she once moved — 
The one look she gave me proved 
My love was small, a dream gone past. 
The while I held her, heart and head. 
She was not there, but had risen 
Like a lapwing from her prison. 
While what I held was her cage instead. 
She was all as I have seen 
Song-swallow rise to hover 
Straight above tree-spire, keen 
To tempt her plum-fishing lover 
To face one heaven of storm and sun, 
Only the crowd of stars above her, 
So she might not clap wings alone 
To cycle 'round the spirit-zone. 
So was all of her silence broke 
Now she spoke to me — so she spoke: 



Golgotha 107 

Here 's one truth for your thinking of: 

One other love comes above it 

Makes a man almost unlove it, 

One kind which works not for any gain 

Of circumstance to blossom better, 

Fears not loss, bafflement, pain; 

Will break each shell, each ankle-fetter 

To get above self just to make scope 

To see outside of life and hope 

And fear and each Httle peoplish way. 

To make master — never great for pay! 

Here is conflict : — Glut life to the letter, 

Follow the law, be man among men, 

Yet is there of you another better 

Will force an audience again and again. 

Will say: Make the most of it, tree and nest, 

Follow the world by the honor-way 

To love, be loved, come wise each day 

To let the laurels 'round you play, 

Yet is the thing not your monarch-best. 

But more, your very game you play 

To make the most of it to live 

For what the good world has to give 

Will lose you more in another way: 

Never a breath you drew 

For gain in it, if you knew. 

But argued a higher heart in you 

Than sings in summer or may be found 

Tangled in law-knots which govern ground, 

As death to an ortolan that you may breathe 

By chopping his song off between your teeth; 

I split a bobolink to eat his heart, 

While just a thought of his pretty song 

He made me all summer long 



io8 Golgotha 

Will bring me to a stop and start ; 

Death to all life so you may grow 

To keep on living and loving, and lo 

Who is there lives and loves it so? 

Do what you may for gain to you 

With not a thought of others too, 

The thing were nobler not to do. 

Here is battle: See what you see 

Of how you came to be what you are 

By such vast slaughter and rank evil 

As goes to shame the very devil 

For the red flame in it of hellish war — 

Would you turn back to such parent breast, 

The rough hard heart in it and the rest. 

More than this bell-flower breathes or keeps 

Putrid dung-pile from which it leaps? 

Then is there in you that which turns 

Hand against nature, as I see it, 

To grow aloof and one day flee it — 

This flower-breath rises, but not returns. 

You have your crop of better stufif 

Which makes for mastery, which is worth 

More than all harvesting of earth 

To plump up gut, yet crops not enough 

To satisfy one honest longing 

For higher branches, sunnier songing." 

So she reasoned — I could not answer 

When she said, "You be a man, sir, 

Of the new type to hang to all best, 

Nor count your loss of love and the rest 

Which men count better and you count best 

To pamper passion, one toss of a groat 

To ring at an ear, tickle a throat — 

Would you win me you shall rise 



Golgotha 109 

To all encumbrance of my skies 

To bear a little from earth away 

To come to me, more and more, each day 

By larger love and finer and true 

To one starful, which you never knew 

Nor may in your college-lull 

Where you dig for God in your human skull." 



EDWARD FARNUM SOUTHWICK. OBIIT 1855. 



Only seventeen when he died, 
The soul-eyed eagle- winged boy- 
Just blossoming, like a pomeroy. 
Of brightened brow and the certain stride 

I knew once — I was that young 

I scarcely had mind or tongue 

To tell him how I knew 
He was so great and fine and true. 



So young he was to die, 
Just as he put a lip to Spring 
To taste without once swallowing; 
Could have his pick, could have reached so high 

And death had thought good to spare 

Such May-bush, so uncommon fair 

Of promise to put his mark 
In sky-land like an evening spark. 



As he was about to go 
I had but got here, scarcely more 
Than flanked my tin soldiers at his door 
To give him warning he should not go; 



Edward Farnum Southwick 

Called to him, found him not there, 
Only the white d lip and stare 
Of eye-light that flashed up 
Like cinders from a silver cup. 

IV 

Beauty had put its mark 
In each blue vein of him like a net 
To snare the spirit, one star was set 
Fast in each eye, I saw the spark 
Meant only Beauty to say 
How fairer he was behind the clay 
Than men may think to dream, 
And they get only the goggled gleam. 



And his life was not begun. 
Since there could be no life for him 
Of your worldish cock-snipe puppet-whim 
To fly-plumb sun-sweets, to have a run 
In stubble, to make what most 
He could where some poor brother lost, 
To clinch and throttle and thrust, 
Make a life of it because he must ; 

VI 

As if a man may not rise 

Above this world-wave of life you hold 

For the value of its breath of gold. 

Its treacle-swim and fleet of flies ! 

Shall I take such life to heart 
For being of it and one part 
More than a pomfret drinks 

His sea in where he blows and blinks? 



112 Edward Farnum Southwick 

VII 

Such men do grow, in their time, 
Soul too large for one life to mould, 
Too fine to perfectly unfold 
Before they reach the unclouded clime 
They know of to make their way 
In one rich other kind of day 
Of spirit-blossom-breath, 
All out of reach of this life and death. 



There was that of him was sure 
To take him outside your swing of thought 
And feeling and doing, just that sort 
Of spirit which is so fine and pure 
As will not come to a touch 
Of earth to get the shock and smutch- 
Only one dip of wing 
In a lake of glass or silver spring 



At evening, like he mistook 
The mirrored star-specks in a stream 
For his true heaven, for so they seem, 
Bent him once downward to have a look 
And skim across the wave 
To find there only an open grave, 
Then the one touch of pain 
And he was off to his sky again. 



All surely there was for him 
Scarce a place here which he could touch, 



Edward Farnum Southwick 113 

So fair was the soul of him and so much 

As to put his world about him dim, 
And he but a boy at that, 
And such a man to be coming at 
As only God may know 

Why he should have been taken so. 



Once in his new garden-bed 
He picked a pinkster-flower that I 
Might look to see how soon it would die, 
The way of perfect Beauty, he said, 
Put it in my pink toy-hand 
To keep 'til I could understand, 
While all the one sweet while 
I saw only his heaven-haunted smile. 



Oft do I dream one way: 
Your soul had in it such vast worth 
As not to treasure the toys of earth, 
Came only to look once, not to stay — 
And yet you might come again 
In a sweeter new lull of wind and rain 
When men have learned their part 
To hold to you by their larger heart. 



XIII 



You were more than I could see. 
And so soon gone again — you 
Of the wondrous brow and heart-look through 
Of marvellous gentlest mystery 



114 Edward Farnum Southwick 

Of soul which could not be read, 
Too much was there to be partly said, 
And so you went your way — 
Would I might follow one clear day ! 



Poor Eddy — for so I think 
Who may not know things as they are, 
Who grasp at shadows for my star 
To forge me my chain without a link — 

I wonder, and we once meet, 

Would you know me as now, or leap to greet 

The child you knew before 
With his tin soldiers on the floor? 



THE APPIAN WAY 

What a pity! 
She came to town this day, 
Linked about in blooms, 
New blooms of May, 
The which she gathered by the way 

From field to city. 

No one knew 
How she left her home, 
Her sky-crowned cottage 
To come to Rome 
— The larger for the smaller dome — 

No one but you. 

A word with you: 
I saw her pass this way 
Towards the ruins; 
She would not stay 
Nor catch one word I had to say. 

But faster flew 

To turn aside 
Just in the fatal shade 
Of Pompey's statue; 
Her heart dismayed 
Right where a country's hopes were laid 

When Caesar died. 



ii6 The Appian Way 

I heard her sob ; 
Such stones are strange to tears; 
Then she sighed your name ; 
A thousand years 
Have not cut off a maiden's fears 

The half a throb. 

You drew her here 
By tempting her to come; 
With no thought but you 
She left her home 
To join you in the jaws of Rome 

For love and fear. 

Strange yonder Hghts 
But how they butt to flare 
Against the columns 
Which stalk to stare 
Among all ages crumbling there 

On CaeHan heights ! 

What fire is there ! 
What flint-head rock is gone, 
Sunburnt to ashes 
To nurse the thorn, 
Ashes and thorns men step upon 

To thrones of care! 

Pleasure and Care, 
Twin monsters of the night, 
How like Hell's angels 
Ye slip the Hght 
To skulk to spit a demon's blight 

On all that 's fair! 



The Appian Way 117 

Say you "Why not?" 
Because 't is written still 
In all hearts of men, 
Thou shalt not kill 
One purpose of the human will 

Divinely wrought. 

Her sweet regard 
Is all this world to you; 
Once that is gone 
What sky is blue? 
A day has mourned to leave its dew 

On sand and sward. 

She waits for you 
Just where great Caesar stood 
To trust him to his friends; 
All her fine mood 
Is bent to bring you peace and good, 

And friends are few. 

She sought the town 
That you might name her fate 
Among the ruins; 
'T is not too late — 
Be master where the cause is great, 

Don't help her down! 



IN CCELIS 

Her image within 

In the clasp of my soul 

To beckon and win 

Me where time shall unroll 

All the planets of space 

And not touch her sweet face. 



Always I think of her, 
Now she is gone ; 
Her violet eyes, the pure pink of her 

Of a summer-day dawn; 
Such gentle face, as if spirit 

Hovered near it — 
So much of her for thinking on 
As each new day is born, 
Now she is gone. 



Always I think to see 
A look of her, 
Just her sweet look as it used to be. 
Just the one perfect look of her. 
As I would give a whole Heaven to know 

She sees me so 
As I am now this ripe iris morn, 

This bell-blossom day I was born, 
Now she is gone. 



In Ccelis 119 



III 

Each day too comes there this 
For me to think : 
She knows now how my whole Hfe is, 
The worst of it, each Hnk by Hnk ; 
There stretches the imperfect chain, 

So little gain 
Since last I saw her that sorrow-day 

Which dropped its shadow to play 
Across my way! 



IV 



Yet this one thing I know: 
She sees for clear 
What value love has to come and go 
To leave me longing so here; 
They know, these everlasting ones 

Among the suns, 
How Beauty ever keeps on and on, 
A thing to think and live upon. 
Now they are gone. 



Her tuberose pot is this, 
The one she kept 
Below her window pontifice — 
That last day she lay and slept 
They died, her flowers so like her they! 

A-lack a- day 
How Beauty breathes and is gone again. 

Much as to say : ' ' Your world is vain 
Of pot and grain, 



I20 In Coelis 

VI 

"And so I go my way 
Of other skies, 
Have had enough of your tumble-day 

To long for struggle to rise, 
Never enough of its heavy frown 

To hold me down, 
And so I break away from its rune 

To point you my higher noon, 
My rarer June." 



Tie to your love your way 
Of heavy earth ; 
Jump lip to lip in passion-play, 

How short it lives and is nothing worth! 
Out where yonder yellow stars glisten 

I look and listen. 
Or here where my maple-tree purrs. 

My swamp-lark dances in his firs — 
What love like hers? 



This was her cottage too ; 

Each little vase 

Took some tint or look which was true 

Of her beautiful face — 
Her room now, parrot and picture- wall, 

Keep her smile and call ; 
All around is her spirit-mark, 

That I through my thickest dark 
May look and hark 



In Coelis 121 



To find her somewhere near, 
Or come to know 
Spirit-Beauty is wholly too dear 
To crumble under and go 
Like a plum does on an autumn spit 

For lack of it — 
So now I see it by what is plain, 
Her whole-soul-look to me again 
As that day when 



She first held me in arms — 
I could not know 
I was her wild-flower in her palms 
And she there clinging to me so ; 
I could not see nor know her 

Till more and more 
I grew spirit and bosom-size 

To drink love out of her eyes 
Whole-hearted- wise : 



That way now I may see 
How just the same 
She keeps beyond and over me 
To be my soulfullest aim 
To come to her by her higher way, 

As she would say. 
While so I look trustfully on 
To watch for her in yonder dawn. 
Now she is gone. 



SONG 

Comes there nought of sinning, 
Nought of winning; 

Life hangs about the wooing 
And the doing; 

Mount your pinnacle of thought, 

Love is there or life is not. 

What comes there good of pleading, 

Good of creeding? 
Soul knows a way of growing. 

Way of knowing 
How your self-dependent plan 
Maps the mastrous kind of man. 

Comes nothing of your pining. 

Of your whining; 
Spirit goes a-trusting, 

Goes a-justing, 
As all value of the rout 
Is the grapple, bout by bout. 

I catch my star by groping. 

Not by hoping; 
Pitch dark to point an iris 

Where the fire is — 
Any super-glut of light 
Cheats my seeing out of sight! 



Song 123 



Fate hangs about endeavor 

Dull or clever; 
Makes much of half a struggle, 

Plod or juggle, 
So the soul of it be true, 
So the whole of it be you. 

Mind you not the losing 

Nor refusing; 
There 's more behind the forfeit 

Than the profit; 
Loss means twice another gain 
In the Eminent Domain. 



LOVER TO PRIEST 



You shall not have her ! 

Sky may pinken out of time, 

Seas churn fury into chime, 

While you surprise your thrapple by a psalming of palaver, 

But you shall not have her! 



She shall not waver! 

Sing in sermon, preach in song. 

Send your right note rattling wrong 

And I pledge you my stars the true ring of her heart shall 

save her, 
For love may not waver. 



She shall not reply, 

Blind where she stands at the gate 

To grope, hands up, for a mate, 

Till I touch her eyes with my fire-new sight, and you may rely 

On her perfect reply. 



Cowl shall not cow her! 

She shall be truth out of reach, 

Clean beyond snares which you preach, 

Grip not a prayer for a crutch to thought-weaken or bow her. 

Cry cripple to cow her ! 

124 



Lover to Priest 125 



Trick shall not bind her! 

She shall be love, which is sane, 

Not tied by a knot of her brain, 

Not to care for how you turn blood into wine to remind her 

Your chain-words could bind her. 



You shall not stop her! 

Never yet was truth once stopped 

Since the blue-blown heaven was propped! 

Make it a point of how to think of Christ, how prayer is proper, 

But you shall not stop her! 



What then shall hold her? 

Mine, not by right of thought, 

But by my right of soul, heart- wrought. 

Which gets above your thought to come to love, and that 

shall mould her, 
Just love shall hold her. 

VIII 

You shall not have her! 

Your time is not come, but past. 

To unsoul souls, cow and gast! 

Peer sharp as an awl, look damned dumb-ague to smirk and 

glaver, 
But you shall not have her! 



SUPERNITY 
Kiri^^a. eq dec 

Beauty is all there is, 

So Beauty alone survives! 
Beauty is all I miss 

In this world of lives 
Of great men and small men, 

As of all men 
What is this worst and best 

But Beauty put to the test? 



Duty begins everywhere 

And ends nowhere! 
Duty is a thing to do 

Which makes the most of you; 
Is a thought to take 

For another's sake, 
A profit I lose, 

Yet is put to use 
When I come to choose 

Between me and another, 
My unfortuned brother — 

So have an eye to duty, 
The pink choice cheek of Beauty. 
126 



Supernity 127 

Love is the wing of power, 

Reaches skyward every hour 
Like my phyllis flower ! 

My love was at fearful cost, 
And so I thought I lost 

Because I could not see 
Infinite sublimity 

In the north celestial ring 
Like a yellow shining wing 

For forever spread 
Over the lost and dead, 

And so 
Love lingers and I go, 

Love cares never for gain, 
All alike are pay and pain, 

Hateful the bribe of booty — 
So love is Beauty. 

Thought, too, has mastered the trick. 

Puts in a lick 
At this evening Mars, 

Counts the sputtering stars, 
Pricks the unending blue 

For what is true, 
Fishes deep for a law 

Worth living for, 
Plasters the morning sky 

With its aim true and high, 
Soars by gyrfalcon wing. 

So truth is Beauty — that I sing! 



Beauty 't is to live. 
To take and give. 



128 Supernity 



To come to the clinch 

Nor lose an inch, 
To conquer pain 

And round on round 
To down the ground 

And rise again 
To come to power, 

This power in man 
Of Supreme God 

To cast his span 
Beyond the hour, 

Beyond the sod 
By the truth he reaps, 

By the power he keeps, 
By the Heaven he sweeps 

To conquer and achieve. 
So Beauty 't is to live. 

Beauty 'tis to die 

Nor breathe a sigh. 
To pass away 

Out of this earth 
Which gave me clay 

To make it worth 
My while to hatch 

The amber ray 
So I might match 

The stars at play 
Which shape their light 

To turn to you 
The stripe of white, 

The spike of blue 
To jump on and on 

When the clay is gone — 



Supernity 129 



And so I drop my load 

When the brink is toed, 
I take my leap in the dark 

By my flying spark, 
I plow the spaces through 

By my pink or blue 
To know, by the spark in me 

Of eternity. 
To know, by the dome on high 

Of my sparkling sky, 
'T is Beauty to die. 

Mark but yonder cloud 

In poise over sky 
Like a peacock proud 

Of the aloe dye. 
Each new shape of red 

Or walnut overhead, 
One keen scarlet cut 

To let the blue fire jut, 
And so soon gone, 

Scattered by dark, 
Shattered by dawn, 

Yet hark and mark: 
'T is the cloud is gone 

Like a throttled fawn. 
While each way everywhere 

Swinging free and fair, 
Making the daylight rare, 

Kinging the rampant air, 
Beauty forevermore is there ! 

Gentle Edward is gone ! 
Oh, the beautiful boy! 



13° Supernity 



So great to look upon, 

Such a captain of joy, 
He of the round brow 

To know why and how. 
Of the perfect heart 

Above gold and art 
To play masterpart 

For not a breath of fear, 
For not a thought but here 

Life is noble and dear 
To dare to do, 

To dare to be. 
To fight it through 

To supremity 
By force of virtue-might, 

By force of mastrous right — 
And he that gentle too. 

So long-hearted through 
To what is fine and true, 

Kept only Beauty in view 
To the flaming spit 

Just for love of it. 
As now he seems to say 

From yonder where he lies 
Under his whited skies : 

"I only went my brighter way, 
All 'round the grave is day, 

A day you may not see 
For this, that you are stuck 

In the crock and muck ; 
More and more is to be, 

I am one with immensity. 
Any universe is small 

Matched with spirit, which is all, 



Supernity 131 

And so I have gone 

To my larger dawn; 
Always I go on and on 

To capture more and more 
Than any future or before — 

Could God have an end in view 
In endlessness, or is it true 

Nothing comes to an end but you?" 

See his garden over him, 

Flowers of cheek and limb, 
This ople-tree rose 

To point and pose, 
Alfilerilla flowers 

To count the hours, 
Spikes of larkspur to point 

Where all worlds are joint, 
Tiny blue flowers to say: 

"We too are on our way. 
Our way we point to you 

In the everlasting blue 
We climb and fasten to, 

A blue not of future or past, 
So a blue is meant to last. 

That same blue which is ours, 
Beyond this sod and these hours. 

Higher and lastinger than the flowers" — 

So the grasses wave 

Over his grave 
Only to point the way 

He went that day. 



EGOHOOD 

Once I saw a child rule 

Who never knew he was ruling ; 
There was nor creed-thumbing nor schooling, 

Only it was one sun-lorded day 
Where the child picked bunch-lily stems, 

Shook the dew off in a rain of sun 
To see umber and white iris run 

Together like a string of gems — 
Then I saw the child look up, 

As if to say, There 's more 
Than Judee dew, pale madrepore 

In yonder elegant cup. 
That was the certain self of the child 

Whose hand and heart were not yet moulded 
To do and think just as the old did, 

So he tasselled the dew and smiled, 
Now looked up, now looked down, 

Thought to himself, never a frown: 
I wonder if I best stay 

To whip life out of this dew and clay, 
Be as some think, do as all say. 

Or give my heart up to go 
Beyond where I see and know 

Star-fields shake their worlds at you 
For little briolettes of dew 

God-fashion, which is lasting-true, 
Which is wholly you. 

132 



Egohood 133 



There 's the one way to be manifest, 
Which a man shall be to be his best : 

Mark first how the child was free, 
Looked up, never bent a knee, 

Yet held the tall great Heaven in fee! 
One free-thoughted, free-hearted child 

Who hugged to the ground the acorn-way 
For sun- wash, April spray. 

To reach up where the stars are piled 
In one superlative mock-orange day — 

Star-worlds put off so far 
So I shall see how small they are 

When matched with spirit, with what 
Grows in the child to be bosom-thought. 

Heart-bounding hope and longing, 
A lip of pretty tune-time songing. 

Mark how now the child never knew 
God's way or your way, only their way, 

Plum-buds which mount their stairway 
Up the branches, capture the blue 

Sky-drip, and all in spite of you! 
So now, mark, the child is free, 

Whole-hearted independent stufi 
His soul is, more than enough 

To build greatness by self-supremacy 
Once he gets the chance. See now your way : 

You put God up to police him. 
Change his tune, clip and fleece him 

Of power to swing his own thinking. 
While next you have him mumbling, shrinking, 

Cow-eyed, neither Ghib nor Guelf, 
Fingers bent to tickle a book 

For the jail in it and snivel-look, 
He to forget his first royal self! 



134 Egdhood 



There 's the child, clear- throated free 
To be the whole what of him soulfully, 

Nor you to tinker him, boast your blunder 
To box him up, bring him under 

To knuckle down, drop his nod 
And chin, learn what is true 

To the wrong end by swallowing you, 
Play worm at it to enrapture God. 



There 's the child now — he has his fair start, 
Open-minded, mammoth heart. 

While what like a child will I find 
For spirit so high-inclined 

Beyond pigging or trick of mind 
Which makes out of life what is worst. 

As to seem little, stand first? — 
Spirit such as would not stay 

But for the handicap of clay, 
Though now once put in the race 

There 's but to fight it out 
Through tug and hunger and doubt 

To mightier loftiness, nobler place. 
Once I tried to know what the child was. 

Whether an end just, or one new cause 
For power to mount new sky, 

Grow other hands and a wider eye 
And compass — there 's infinity, 

And he part of it; think you a part 
Drops out of the universal heart 

Which plays its fountains of fire 
In this one everlasting desire 

Which churns and chimes so, which longs 
For the cymbal-whisper of songs 



Egohood 135 

Ear never once has heard? 
So stammers the heart — why doubt its word? 

The child I lost when he grew to boy, 
Lost the little silver tongue, 

Pretty totter, burst of joy — 
Who would not keep them always young? 

So there 's the man to start with, 
God-seed — everything is there 

Soul-first, pheasant-fair. 
Which straight you begin to part with; 

You head him head-first at the world, 
Heart made prisoner, brain unfurled. 

Shape him pretty much all head 
As if such were the best of him. 

While as for all the rest of him, 
His God-side, half good as dead! 

Never himself he 's to be, to grow, 
But you just, swallow what you know, 

Do not his thinking but yours, 
Down before you on all fours 

Dog-fashion to be mastered, 
His prime high self made punk and dastard. 

Once was one wise one, so they tell, 
Thought to put a new better spell 

To Beauty, so caught a thrush, 
Carved his wing another shape. 

Daubed one streak of olive-slush 
Clean across his nape. 

Clipped his bill, split his tongue 
Till his new-made mouthpiece rung 

A note 'twixt the wheeze and whistle 
Of an east wind in a thistle. 

Chalked his buff bosom pale. 



136 Egohood 

Painted his claw, docked his tail, 

Then handed you quite the common quail! 

So I hold the child to what is in him, 

I learn of him, he learns not of me; 
I learn of him to do or to be 

More than mock-parrot, mute minim; 
I learn, first, to be wholly free 

To do the lordliest of me 
According to me, nor according to you — 

You have your high self-way too, 
So leave me alone to mine. 

Hog-bean or orange columbine, 
Since I am for what I am. 

Nor shall you whip me to your shape 
Of duck-foot or polygram 

To mark time to you, play ape, 
For there am I in the child 

God-fashion, Majesty-styled 
To build grape, unprison oak. 

Not to be felled by your master-stroke. 
My way I hold to for only my way, 

There 's the one Sir Royal Highway 
Of mastery which is man 

By the unique whole of him, 
Vast heart, vaster soul of him 

For power to largen his ego-span. 

Agreed, eh? Man shall not be ruled 

By man-monarchy, not to be schooled 

To thumb under to make his bow 

Toman? Agreed! Yet next what now 

But up with God in his sky high 

To map and master your destiny, 



Egohood 137 

To leash you snug within bounds 

Like a pack of hounds ! 
Up with your God, down with you 

By so much just as he holds you to, 
Raps your knuckles, pins you through 

So you may come to quobbing, 
Snivel-lip, psalm-sobbing. 

Think him lord-high proud of you 
In that you shall quiver to sing, 

Whine like a mewling puppet-thing 
For God's sake — the while you know 

Spirit-mightiness is not so, 
The loud man of you is not there 

For climax superabundant fair 
As bends to no mightiness anywhere. 

See each tulip how it stands up 
Straight as starlight, never nod. 

To hold one cochineal garden-cup 
Of lip up — there it whispers to God 

Of triumph over Power and sod ! 
Once was one wise one, so is told. 

Took to mastering his brave dog 
That knew not a way to yield, to cog, 

Yet the master thought him overbold, 
So took to chiding him, 

Took too to hiding him, 
Muzzled him to bring him under. 

Practised each prime stupid blunder 
Which makes for master and slave. 

Makes one plaster, t' other knave. 
Till he had him so well in hand 

As the sea has strips of shifting sand. 
All went well enough till there came 

A need of dog-soul, need of the flame 



138 Egohood 

Of love, which is power to do 

All the masterfullest of you 
Without heed of profit or harm 

— There 's life at its superhuman charm- 
For one night came, the master was down. 

Smothered in the clutch and frown 
Of picaroons — each cry for help 

Died on the mask of dark — 
Came there back just the coward-yelp 

Of the hound, never growl nor bark 
As he slinked back of each pinaster, 

Tail tucked well between two legs 
Bent under him like broken pegs 

For fear — so he left his master 
Gagged and robbed of a last piaster. 

O friend, God is in his sky, 

Yet only the thought is high, 
Since with him is neither high nor low, 

Only your thinking puts it so, 
By which way all highness is true 

Of you just, only of you. 
The God you seek, the power you glue 

To planets in the upper blue 
Is there in the very soul of you. 

Can you not wield it nor do 
What God does with sun and dew? 

Ah, but you could if you took 
A leaf out of his Ego-Book 

Put plain, once for all, at your hand, 
Little letters of asphodel. 

Little periods of sand. 
And you read how all is well 

With him who shall understand 



Egohood 139 

Beauty makes first, is the thing that makes 

Most of itself, ties a new band 
Of gold leaf to each seed of sand, 

Flinches never nor quakes. 
Or you see by what stroke of command 

This Zinfandel-vine will crawl 
Across two corners of a wall 

To hang the white bell there, purple ball 
With only one tiny toilet hand. 

Man has of him to come to this : 
Nought for him was built to miss 

In a universe which is soul. 
He to compass not the whole 

But more always, always more, 
Stronger by what he was before 

To grow growth, he to be 
Himself just, all almightily 

Himself, never part of you 
To founder under your thumb and shoe. 

Be storm what it may, he shall meet it: 
Be there power to crush, he shall beat it; 

Be evil ripemost and no odds. 
He shall be foremost, stand sure 

As godliness to endure. 
High-handed spirit-royal pure. 

Nor a side look to your Monks and Gods. 
Made was man to be man first. 

To beat down what hellish worst 
Is of him, is about him. 

Furies they that try to rout him, 
War to the teeth, so that by what 

He mans himself, whimpers not, 
Force against force, Gods or Devils, 

He stands for master of all evils 



I40 Egohood 

To hold power, swallow light, 

Dip his moon-spoon into Right, 

Come to be whatmost vast he can, 
Self-kingdomed, under no ban, 

He a God at it, God the man! 



Ah, I see now by your scowl, 
You of the cassock and cowl, 

There 's God to knuckle to plumb under, 
Power put up to put me down, 

Sky-kingliness in brute frown, 
God's lightning and your thunder! 

Power there is, power is there, 
Beauty and power everywhere 

And I part of it, I to come 
To more of it — shall I only sip 

My minim of such eternal sum. 
Never once one swallow. 

Put the glass down, shut the lip. 
And I all throat and hungry hollow? 

Power is about and above, 
Power is for me that I may love 

And conquer it, never to get enough; 
Power against me for me to fight — 

How else may I come to might? 
What matter put-backs or hurts? 

"Power to him who power exerts." 
By what he puts under shall he rise 

Nearer and nearer to his skies; 
What he puts over him for power, frown, 

There 's the royalty puts him down. 
Here is one truth manifest : 

Man may not complete his best 



Egohood ^41 



For all of him wholly here 

In one life, as is shown 
By how life littles, how he has grown 

To mightily outgrow it, 
Place, power, arena-peer — 

How the stars in his spirit show it! 
Higher forever he shall reach, 

Nor matters it how you teach 
Weakness in him, teach him Power 

Meant him to snivel and whine and cower 
Like a spoilt dog. One part of Beauty 

Is man — he blossoms out 
Face to force and toughest duty. 

His close hug with death and doubt — 
He has his way, yet he will come at it, 
Nor counts it how you pipe and drum at it 
To put him in step with you. 

With God — he has power to do. 
To die, which is divine, 

And you shall not whip him into line 
To look up, knuckle under, 

Whiten at your pistareen thunder. 
Beauty is his, he one part of it, 

He the lasting soul and heart of it, 
For see how Beauty survives 

Over change of power, loss of lives 
And worlds and all I see. 

And Beauty there eternally ! 
His fight goes for that he shall do 

More than ever you half knew. 
By his high self through and through, 

Like as the jasper-jonquil tribe 
Which bends never to threat, to bribe — 

He to throw himself against Power, 



1 42 Egohood 



Not on it, like a lemon-flower 

Or chinkapin at a frost, 
Bound to be Beauty at all cost, 

Battleful mastiff to take and give, 
To know one prince-prerogative : 

As a man dies so shall he live; 
As he is himself and wholly 

By right to force his path 
Into flower-land and aftermath 

By mastership to conquer folly. 
By force of loftiness which is pure. 

By force of endurance which is sure 
To outlast bondage, through thick or thin. 

Power against power to see who shall win, 
Man at his virtue and spirit-plot, 

Or you at your book and altar-knot 
To fasten him — love, virtue, duty 

Shall put him beyond you and your kinks 
Of cowardice and nasty prison-links. 

He the keen throne-shine of all Beauty. 



HERE 'S LUCK 

Here 's luck, 
Here 's to man at his best, 

Here 's to pluck 
To be great and no lack of a test, 

And no lack 

Of a back 

Or a knack 
To whip up the storm and unhorse fate — 

Here 's luck to the great ! 

To a pinch 
To be man at the wheel, 

To a clinch 
To strike back till the bull-billows reel 

Into space. 

Set a pace 

To the chase. 
Smash a way out against reefs of wrong — 

Here 's luck to the strong! 

For a leap 
From the bottom of thought 

Into deep 
New planets so all truth may be caught ! 

Up to flight 
143 



144 Here's Luck 

All your might 
For all height 
To poise, to pick the lock of the skies — 
Here 's luck to the wise ! 

Up and true 
To the end of a breath 

To be you 
To the last puckered palate of death, 

Nor a thought 

Of the what 

To be got! 
Highward and farward to dare to do — 

Here 's luck to the true ! 

To the brave 
And he stand to his test, 

Nor a grave 
That shall balk him from doing his best, 

Nor a fear 

Of the sneer 

Of a peer; 
Hail to the soul that shall all unslave — 

Here 's luck to the brave ! 

To the kind, 
To the man of a heart ! 

More than mind 
Is the sweet soul performing its part; 

More than thought 

To be wrought 

Is a jot 
Of love, though all your talent unwind — 

Here 's luck to the kind ! 



Here's Luck 145 

Here 's to luck, 
Which is power to endure, 

Which is pluck 
To be true and kind and strong and pure 

Everyhow 

Here and now 

Foot and brow; 
Stalk and blossom of Right, which is Power — 

Here 's luck to the flower! 



SING, GENTLE BIRD! 

Sing, gentle bird, 

Your song will be heard ! 

Pick your way alone, 

Your flight will be known! 

Dip your wing 

In shining dew, 

The winds shall ring 

At sight of you, 

Your trees shall sing 

At night to you 
Your song they caught this day. 
Your honeysuckle-lay. 
Your sweet soul which shall be remembered 
When these June days are Decembered. 

Up to your trees 

In forest air, 

Up to the breeze 

Which waits you there 

To plunge and dip 

At your honey-lip 

To hurl your song 

Into zenith-sky 

The moon-light long, 

The noon-light high, 
Your melody of heart, 
Your little body-part 
To show us how the whole of you 
Is the mellow mighty soul of you. 
146 



Sing, Gentle Bird! u? 

Have a sweep 

Across the sky, 

Take a leap 

To fathom why 

Pebbles sleep 

While people die 

Who only reap 

A twinge and sigh, 

Who only creep 

Aloft to die — 
Tell us the blue-handed air 
Clutches Beauty everywhere, 
Tell us your yonder bosom-sky 
Heaves for such as creep aloft to die. 

Once was a day 

I tried to catch 

Your cornfield lay, 

Your master-match — 

Did I but do 

A whit as well 

At song as you 

My heart would well. 

My world would swell 

To hear me through — 
There were the leaves to glisten. 
There was I too to listen, 
While all my cunning with all my care 
Caught not one note of your sleigh-bell air. 

Lonely little bird. 
What a song was there. 
What a note I heard 
Whistling up the air 



148 Sing, Gentle Bird! 

Like a heart was stirred 
In Heaven there, 
Shouting to be heard 
In the world below, 
Just the tiny word 
For me to know : 
"Take a way to follow me, 
Other worlds are yet to see, 
Mighty climbing for mighty view. 
Hold to the power to fly in you!" 

Once I thought to fly 
Taking to your wing, 
Once I fancied I 
Could rise to sing, 
Could tune my soul 
To give it birth. 
To catch your whole 
High heaven-worth 
Of joy and scope 
And mighty hope — 
Yet were you off alone 
To sweep the star-bow zone. 
And I here of my Httle worth 
Planting my strophes in the earth. 

My lute, alas. 
My heart is numb; 
My song shall pass 
Ere June will come, 
People to say 
"His virelay 
Is dumb"; 
But you shall play 



Sing, Gentle Bird! 149 

Immortal chime 
Your perfect way, 
Your heirloom to eternal time, 
Strophe and trophy of raptured rhyme. 
Your great heart which shall be remembered 
When these June days are Decembered. 



"SUCCESS" AT A BRUSH 

Now for a rush to the turn — 
How his eyes twist, harnesses burn 
And he fetches a loop of neck 
And a paw up, the near paw, 
With the snort and whine of a fastened jaw 
Now I take him in check ! — 
A rush to the turn, 
Forty together to get a place 
In the thick and nick of it. head the race — 
A lip of foam now the molars churn 
And eye whitens — then the sweep 
Back to his haunches straight as a rush 
Like he would take the stretch at a leap 
To shorten the brush. 
Then down again, one growling cough 
For being checked and we are off 
Like a school of porpoise in a river 
Or bunch of arrows from a quiver 
— A pull-back and a let-go — 
Steady, boy, no break you know, 
Never mind the bay one there 
Who stole the start — steady. 
Eye cool, pulse-beat ready 
And you will down him fair and square — , 
Nor mind that jockey at his whip 
150 



''Success " at a Brush 151 

And blood-letting, you '11 give him the slip — 

Nor the black one who thinks to beat 

By crook and cheat — 

Nor that brawler with power of lungs 

To hurricane a hundred tongues — 

Steady, boy, the quarter 's past, 

Hold to it, let slip your knees 

To down the brown one, 

The favorite whole-town-one. 

Nose ahead of him, split the breeze 

To down him, don't forget 

Your laurels and my bet — 

Now to it, at it, puff a rush, 

One speed-burst, clap your wings 

To grapple with the soul of things — 

At it, squeeze out of the crush. 

Room enough is just ahead. 

Fetch one squat and buttock-spread, 

At it or you lose the brush — 

See his hide glisten-quiver 

Like wrinkles on a squirting river! — 

Now, boy, now to it, one more burst 

Like that, one more chin-shoot out 

And — see, they are cheering, you are first, 

The rest of forty put to rout 

By force of such Titan strength 

As hurled you past the post a length — 

And as I stepped to his spall 

To pat and thank him for it all, 

Pinned a ribbon to his bridle. 

Got his nose in my arms, 

Got an apple to his lips, 

You should have seen him sidle 

To rub an eye in my palms, 



152 "Success" at a Brush 

Two ears put over to me like slips 

Of myrtle — and I thought, could the whole 

Round world or sky find more 

In what will come or has gone before 

Of pluck-up gentlest human soul? 



QUEECHEE RIVER 

What an hour in what soothing sun 

I have come in this afternoon 
To lay me down where bloodflowers run, 

Ground-robin hops his rigadoon 
Snug in his river bank 

While I watch him at his bobbin-prank! 

Woodstock is one bundle of flowers; 

Straight through runs the river 
Past where such club-moss cowers 

As I have seen in the forest never; 
Cock's- foot grass, all finger and palm, 

Wind sweet as falls from a lily-farm. 

Do I not lie here and think 

What all the best of it means, 
Such river and its silver blink 

Between two cheeks of evergreens, 
That pine-finch at his fife 

To share with me his picnic-life? 

Do I not think what goes 

To make such marvel of repose 

And color in the underwood, 

How all creation seemeth good. 

Yet one strange thing is this: 

Always is something I lack or miss? 
153 



154 Queechee River 

So must I look ahead; 

Always I look beyond 
Swamp-rose in any meadow-bed, 

Dimples in any silver pond! 
Small matter how the world is fair, 

I look beyond it everywhere 

Into eternity — how could I see 

Without eternity in me? 
Is there room for my smallest doubt 

With all the moons in me and about? 
Could I have any lack of sight 

In such avalanche of light? 

So I lie looking yonder; 

I look so I scarcely see 
The pretty river tumbling under 

Its bank of lazy briony, 
While I bathe in my afternoon 

Which brings me so much, is gone so soon. 

So as I lie looking to see 

What lies beyond the world for me, 
Lo, comes Geraldine — there she came 

To the opposite bank, all the same 
As the white flowers at her feet. 

Just as gentle and twice as sweet! 

We talk across the stream. 

While I have this to say; 
"See the bubbles how they gleam, 

These dimples how they twitch and spray 
Amber-blue-beetle-like, 

And the river flies like a shooting pike ! 



Queechee River 155 

"Yet always it stands between us, 

As if the white-eyed waters mean us 

Forever to stand apart, 

Two at hand, one at heart, 

For so we most happen to meet 

Opposite sides of our pitching street. 

"Yet have you thought of it whether 

We come aught the nearer together 
By what the world trembles to miss, 

This cheek-touch or checkered kiss? 
There goes Elegance in the river; 

I may not clutch or touch it ever! 

"Always I fancy you come 

Straight to the other side 
To let the river between us drum 

And whistle — there you abide, 
As if there were so much you saw 

In me not worth the crossing for! 

"I 'm not tall and straight, perhaps, 

Mannered as your city chaps, 
Carry not such keen jacket-cut. 

Importance of lordly strut 
To make my bow to fashion 

Which drives the world and puts the lash on. 

"Or am I too slow to speak. 

Like him I once heard telling you 
You wore spirit in each cheek. 

Eyes violet as clover dew. 
And you that slow to believe 

He wore his spirit on his sleeve ? 



156 Queechee River 

"Or am I well up in years, 

Well silvered, deliberate gait 

Like one who knows he cannot be late 
Or less than yonder endless spheres 

To endure and to take all test, 

Which is soul at its mightiest? 

"Since I am older so much than you, 
Am I then less than once I was? 

If being man is being true 

And lovemost, is there any loss? 

Turns the spirit damp or cold? 

Grows love in the soul a moment old? 

"You may take to your sugar-bush, 
You may call your birds to you 

At evening when the hills are hush, 
Bed your apple-bees in blue. 

Tuck your heart in the upland-lush. 
Yet I shall have a place there too! 

"Away you may wander at will. 

Beyond turnpike, weather-cock hill, 

Take your place among others. 

Make of them friends or brothers, 

Yet you will wander back to me 

As this river seeks out its mate, the sea. 

"Would you put me out of your thought, 

Even so I am there to last, 
This verse to you for forget-me-not 

Long after my day is past. 
As comes the purple finch each spring 

Back to you on his singing wing. 



Queechee River 157 

"I may be not so tall or so straight 

As the other is, or I may be late; 
I may forget my boon-bow too, 

Or bungle in my speaking you ; 
But here is my song without an art, 

And, oh, if you could see my heart!" 



LORD LAVISH 

Lord Lavish my Lord, 

By common accord! 
This is Lord Lavish, I understand, 

So there 's my welcome as here 's my hand! 
What you look now matters not. 

Your rag-bag jacket or shattered lot — 
I knew you once in your up-country spot. 

In your day now gone 

You were looked upon 
As Prince of Power by the gold you had ; 

Nothing you did which was good or bad; 
You were gentleman straight through 

All as far as anyone knew, 
And the world looked up to your gold and you. 

In your park were deer, 

Was the chanticleer, 
Wood-owl looked to pickabud-bird, 

Winds in the wind-flower could be heard, 
As there there grew the dapple 

Orange-ball for you to grapple, 
Flower and feast in your elephant-apple. 

What for a palace 

For bell and chalice 
Of ripe high carnival topped your lawn 

Like a temple of gems to look upon ; 
.158 



Lord Lavish 159 

What for such uncontemplated art 

As caught a man by the throat and heart, 
As if soul had performed its masterpart ! 

You were rich and great, 

You were lord of state 
To ogle and eagle and command; 

Yet now, your lordship, here 's my hand. 
While here is a luck to you 

If you will let me say and do 
My best to put wisdom up to you: 

I knew you in those days 

Under fountain-blaze 
At your palace, knew the romp and kick 

Of pastime when you took your pick 
Of pleasure to the luscious quick ! 

What sweep you fetched and what way 
You flung your gold and your good away ! 

What a life was there 

Of aroma air, 
What hyacinths to their stalks were pinned. 

How you took not a thought for care. 
Oh, how you scattered your world to the wind 

Like the child does, sands in hand 
For not one purpose he could command! 

See this corner-lot 

Of forget-me-not 
In the moon's keep, where laurels wave 

About the head of one pretty grave 
In prophet-flowers, where weep 

The grasses as the dew is deep. 
And all is quiet and perfect sleep ! 



i6o Lord Lavish 

This was your sweet child 

Was so fine and mild 
As to want only to be her most 

As the starling rings or maples boast 
And you had her emeralded, handcuffed so 

In gold as never she grew to show 
What sweetness you lost when you laid her low. 



By your lie you taught : 

Life is fling and sport 
And no better, and nothing to do 

But get her fill, any way at it 
To pluck at pleasure, live for it too. 

While to strive is curse, she must combat it- 
There was all in her life she knew. 



Your boy is here 

With his crop of cheer, 
Your one heir to the gold you gave 

Which digs him his deep early grave; 
He grew at your table of drinks 

To learn how the Lunel stings and pinks — 
I wonder if ever he halts and thinks! 



The wife too is gone 

At her early dawn 
As a bird has left her nest for good 

To go to her final widowhood — 
You put silver to her wing. 

Gave her the dappled cheek and ring, 
And she your simple butterfly thing 



Lord Lavish i6i 



For you to admire, 

For her doll attire 
For the toy she was for you from start, 

So she played her popinjay-part 
Of wind-moth which is so soon gone 

In the dancing flame he dances on- 
Better, say I, she were never born. 



How you did ravish 

The world, Lord Lavish, 
To pick sweets out — as if I am much 

By what I snuff or gulp or touch, 
And not by the thing I do 

Which props me high, holds me true 
'Til I come to yonder circle of blue! 



Let a man go wrong, 

Be he weak or strong. 
He shall pay full for it — there 's one law 

Beauty goes by to blossom for 
More beyond and out of view. 

More than ever men dreamed or knew, 
More power to be evermore mounting to. 



Your hand, old friend. 

For life to one end! 
Man is young in the world, I have said, 

Is forced to learn by the sharp tough tread 
Of circumstance to grow great. 

To climb over all of ugly fate 
To be his own God and Potentate. 



1 62 Lord Lavish 

So give me your hand, 

Take the tall new stand! 
Since your way in the world was lavish-bad, 

So have you lost all the world you had- 
Never mind, have at it again ! 

His song returns to each moulted wren, 
And always the chance for men to be men. 



VILLAGE FOOL 



I KNEW a fool once, 
Crab-apple head, 
Village butt and dunce. 
Wit as well as dead. 
Such uncommon curious man 
He never looked to you, 
His hat like a paper can, 
One foot in a paper shoe. 
Walked backwards because he was worsed. 
Because his luck had been reversed, 
His right hand over his heart 
As if to shield it in part. 
For fear, maybe, you should strike him, 
Or the village-girl should like him ; 
Knew his neighbors and friends, 
Understood their aims and ends. 
Had a wisdom of his own, 
Never a full hand. 
As if his soul had flown 
Leaving him only crumbs 
Of skyhght to understand, 
His grip just of knuckles and thumbs. 
Who he was, whence he came 
None knew — always the same 
163 



164 Village Fool 



Faceful of kindness which endears, 
His look half smileful, half tears, 
Yet one wondered how he could come 
To be so soul-spoken, yet dumb. 



Maybe he wore two souls in him, 

One a bright soul, the other dim. 

Each a separate soul — who knows? 

Leastwise so my story goes 

To show he was no less a wonder 

Than you who never made a blunder; 

For mark, there was this about him 

Made you take a breath to doubt him 

If he were wholefully such a fool 

As you would think by his bonnetful 

Of rubbishness he would talk, 

His paper shoe, backward walk — 

There was this odd circumstance: 

Once he came to fix his glance 

On a single star in the sky, 

He could not look apart from the spot 

If he wanted to or not, 

Nor could he answer you why 

He was so fastened, why he stood 

Hours together to look so far 

To another world, one tiny star. 

What he thought or understood 

One could not guess — only this 

One mystic mighty wonder is : 

He would come to another mood 

So soon as his gaze was fixed, 

One new self, another man. 



Village Fool 165 

More wonderfully subtle than 

Men reach in their meridian — 

Two selves he was could not be mixed, 

So as it seemed to you 

He was his second self, all new, 

As if as soon as his first was tied 

To a star so he could not move, 

His second soul became god and guide 

To show to you and to prove 

You may not ever compass the whole 

Of what defies all limits — man's soul. 

For look now what he could be, 

Once his other self was put free 

To think and talk and feel and see: 

He saw more than other men saw. 

Knew more than other men knew, 

Was not whipped about by law 

Compelling what he should think, should do, 

But was native grace, natural-true. 

Nearer to Beauty was he too 

Than you who are only human you. 



ni 



Men saw him now at his best ! 

He was out of the world, I would say, 

Yet of it, the same dew and clay, 

All the vast man manifest 

For so much more he could see to do 

Than when he was buttonholed to you, 

As if by looking away so far 

He had been buttonholed by a star! 



i66 Village Fool 



He knew the now, 
Knew too the past, 
Saw the whole how 
Your Hf e was cast ; 
When men were born, 
What they had done 
From night 'til morn 
The long ripe run 
Their steps had gone 
Below the sun. 
He saw your thought. 
Each minim- wish, 
If honest-wrought 
Or devilish, 
All as if he 
Composed new might 
By which to flee 
To any height. 
By which to be 
All spirit-flight. 
More than I see 
By candle-sight. 
More than my law 
I worship so 
Is working for, 
Coiild ever grow. 
Wonders he told 
Of what he saw 
In blue and gold 
Superior 

To what men know 
Of what they see. 



Village Fool 167 

Just undertow 

Of eternity. 

His heart was free, 

Soul was high, 

Infinity 

About him nigh, 

Divinity 

To fill his eye, 

While what he was 

Which I could know, 

Or what the cause 

Should change him so, 

I could not tell 

More than could he. 

Such wonder-spell 

Like deity. 



Of this one evening I am to tell ! 

Such lavender-breath swept the village. 
As if the air now begun to pillage 

Apricot-flower and zinfandel — 
Men stood to watch a red last lip 

The sun put up ere he took his dip — 
One cloud belched one blue fire 

Into forests underneath 
'Til I would think my Heaven was nigher 

Than men dream or prophets breathe — 
Bees grew rich at their honey-knack, 

Each wind pursued its apple-track — 
Wonder came now and everywhere, 

For spirit was in bush and air. 



i68 Village Fool 

At this hour our fool would come out, 

Shuffle backward, go gaping about 
Or above him so he might find 

A star to capture his cripple-mind 
So the other fine high soul of him 

Might come forth, capture the whole of him. 
Bill-bubble was most his talk, 

A throat of only windy pith 
Men could nowise reason with. 

While there he would shoot and balk, 
Looking as if he annoyed you. 

Meaning only to avoid you. 
Fireflies sparked in air. 

Captured his hungry stare 
Like stars, then left him there 

To wonder how a star could fly, 
Could wink out so, could multiply. 

Stood he there to study them, 
Each fly like a lighted gem 

Dancing in a diadem, 
When — what should face to face with him 

In the new blue evening dim 
But two bright eyes, those other stars 

Which give their deeper look than Mars 
Or Procyon, eyes which I see 

Look more than bone or blood could be, 
Two volumes of eternity 

To hold him, to fasten his look 
To such new open Beauty-book 

As never he saw before 
For cheeks of sun-spirit pink. 

Lips of island madrepore 
Would closet a man to listen more 

Than song of wren or bobolink. 



Village Fool 169 

There he was fastened, nor could move 

More than if his star had held him, 
Or his heaven of worlds compelled him — 

A thing which answers to prove 
One soul in a man may be captured, 

Held fast by being wholly raptured, 
By which way his mightier self is freed 

To be more than men could comprehend, 
To know the value of life is its need 

For struggle to 'complish an end, 
For wisdom to find the true value 

Of "shall," of "shallnot"or just "shall you," 
To know and see so much more 

Than men took thought or dream of before. 
She too, riveted by his gaze. 

Now for first time saw in his eyes 
New other wonderful ways 

Soul has to be vastly wise. 
Saw his deep heart-look which came now, 

Such kingliness across his brow 
To take her by monstrous surprise. 

Such a new man was he, foot to head, 
As if he rose to her from the dead. 



VI 



There they were standing face to face, 

She beautiful as young girl grace 
Looking into his new other spirit 

Half to love, half to fear it. 
Now the breath of her came quick, 

Heart leaping, thought thick 
To think of him as he was once, 

Only village butt and dunce, 



170 Village Fool 

To think of him as he was now, 

Of spirit eye, Godward brow, 
Yet no knowing why or how 

He could be changed that instantly, 
Not a cause for it she could see 

Save soon as he looked in her eyes 
Came there the soul in him longs and sighs, 

Is man-like, is mammoth-wise 
As men are never below the skies. 

VII 

With nought above him 

In all her skies, 
Only to look in his eyes 

Was to love him — 
Only to know him 

As he was now 
Of soul-shapen brow. 

What girl could forego him 
To think of him now 

As he came to her there 
With his new fine face, 

His gentlemost care, 
His summer-tree grace 

To tell her his heart 
Which came to him then. 

The noblest best part 
There is of men, 

Now she barkened to catch 
His fine first word 

No Pindar may match 
Nor planet has heard 

As he watched her lips 



Village Fool 17] 

Like a bee 'round a pink 

Will hover to think 
Before he dips, 

As if loth to lose sight 
Of such Beauty by dipping 

For one tiny bite, 
For just honey-sipping ! 

His way he spoke 
She had never heard, 

'Til her heart was stirred 
Like a plum-leaf purred 

If a robin woke : 

VIII 

" I am the man I was once. 

Not your village butt and dunce — 

I am the man I was then 

When the world had blossomed men 

To be great as truth again ; 

I am the man I once was 

When the world had noble cause. 

Knew no need of whips and laws — 

I am myself — look to see 

What my sovereign self may be, 

Once the yoke is off, foot free! 

Know I now I lived before 

In another world away — 

Once I saw you on a shore 

Looked against a purple bay. 

Flowers of fire were on the air, 

Children rang a song to say 

Power is Beauty everywhere, 

Power in Beauty come to stay ! 



172 Village Fool 

You were young, I too was young- 
Little people know a thing 
Mightier than your reasoning, 
Loftier than lip and tongue — 
So we knew we both were made 
Each to have the other, knew 
Love must be an even trade 
To be quits and worth while too — 
We were in one sunbeam birch, 
Pretty jasper light for leaves. 
Each was in a climbing perch 
Puts up fingers and achieves — 
Such the Beauty was about, 
Little sparks of souls at play 
Mocked a tulip for its pout. 
Found a new unworldly way 
Now to take a crimson track, 
Now to seize a flying sun. 
Never stepped an atom back 
Since the soul of them begun — 
Souls were singing — we could hear 
Such a melody of sky 
As star-spots look, high and clear 
And always, tuned to never die — 
I remember now I saw 
Such a boy-face, so complete. 
Truly so surpassing sweet 
There was no accounting for 
The Beauty in him — each look 
Made one volume like a book 
Men could never understand. 
Such flood of soul was in it. 
Such eye-look of the Hnnet, 
Such his handsome hair and hand, 



Village Fool 173 

And all new, wholly other 

Than any human brother 

I saw ever, I would say 

Such fine spirit-wonder play 

Could not blossom through the clay, 

Such his manliness, so fair. 

Above handsome hand or hair 

Or look of him, I could see 

One triumph of Divinity — 

Beauty was to do your best. 

Beauty was to conquer wrong. 

Men were put to every test 

Just to mould them high and strong 

To look beyond, they to see 

More than Self or any Hope 

Save only this, to do, to be 

Their most — men were made to grope 

By darkness to know of light, 

By falling to know of flight. 

By wing-work to know of might. 



"We were in our tree above, 
Stems of wisdom filled the air. 
Yet we talked of only love, 
Love was all things everywhere, 
Just our love — we fancied truth 
Was a thing of love and youth. 
Took life for a rattling toy, 
A trick to manufacture joy, 
We just giggling girl and boy. 
Grew our tree up such a tree. 
Fine as fingers of a sun. 



174 Village Fool 

Bore us up too, you and me, 
As if everything were done 
All for our satiety — 
Grew the branches fine and high, 
Thin as threads of onyx light 
'Til they lost their elbow-might, 
Vanished into perfect sky — 
Left were we to drop or fly ! 
Learned we never once one stroke 
Meant to rise or plow the wind. 
So as now the branches thinned 
And vanished, or bent and broke, 
We were dropped — so much was all ! 
Dropped, so that way came our fall 
To earth, to this solid plain 
Now to strive to rise again. 
Once we summered among elves. 
Where soul soars. Beauty delves, 
Yet thought only of ourselves, 
Looked never once around. 
Knew nothing above ground. 
Held only to our love. 
Youth was joy, joy was enough 
For us two to be thinking of! — 
And now this solidest plain, 
We to try to climb again 



" To grow to each other by nobler ways — 
What long way off, what heavy days 
Ere cheek to cheek again, lip to lip, 

We shall have learned how selfless duty 



Village Fool 175 



Is the apple-branch of Beauty 

To come before our honey-dip ! ' 



So spake he to her, the strong man bright, 

His fool-self kept out of sight 
By looking her full in the eyes 

Where soul builds Beauty otherwise 
Than I see in a lip or hand, 

Beauty which is out of reach, 
Beauty which is out of speech. 

Yet volumes I understand, 
Beauty and none like it so 

Beyond what I may touch, may know, 
And he so fastened to it there, 

A thing beyond him to call him forth. 
The gem in him, all his spirit-worth. 

He was no longer village-fool, 
But man-mighty, one bosomful 

Of wisdom and power and love 
'Til — you know man gets never enough — 

He must have pastime at her lips. 
At her white warm neck and shoulder 

By which he meant to clasp and hold her — 
Why should those lips grow blossom-red 

If not for him to feed upon? 
What is this life, now all is said. 

More than a kiss and we are gone? 
She too so grew drawn to him 

Through the blue new evening's rim. 
She too — what woman shakes 

Her No back when the red heart wakes? — 
For sooner than either could speak 



176 Village Fool 

They were together, cheek on cheek, 
He at her neck and underlip 

As sun ties to a clover-slip — 
One embrace of sun and clover, 

One rush and all was over, 
For that one moment he lost sight 

Of her eyes, of the spirit-light 
Which came of her wonderful eyes. 

Not to be known of otherwise. 
When quicker than eye could see 

Back shot his fool-stupidity. 
Back he was at his paper shoe 

To stroke it, talk crow-talk too. 
Back backward, hand on his heart. 

And so he played his thimbleful part, 
Auk-awkward dotterel among men — 

There was her poor fool again ! 



XII 



Beauty comes first — look to that 
Which all worlds go aiming at ! 

Beauty is power, you to see 
How this soul is meant to be 

Part of all God's sublimity! 
Girl and boy were they, these two: 

Only of themselves they thought, 
Not once of the rounded blue. 

Not of what is lordly true 
Or vastwise in Majesty wrought, 

Only of each other fond. 
Looking never farther to see 



Village Fool 177 

How Best is always beyond, 
How soul is only put in bond, 

Partner of Eternity. 
He must work his fool-way out, 

Come to truth by way of doubt. 
Learn how soul comes more and more 

Past what is or went before, 
Gets Godward by taking wing 

Above all human narrowing. 
Other worlds and other ways 

Wait for men — there are such days 
As shall satisfy all phase 

Of noblemost thought or hope, 
To which I stumble and you grope, 

Fools first that we may come wise, 
Little loftier than fiies 

At start — life tricks and tries 
The very soul of a man 

To put him to his best he can, 
Each purpose such long way off, 

One world never world enough 
To fill this soul or wake it 

To what the heart would make it — 
Ev'n so they two must wait 

To come to such perfect state 
Of love, which is love of all, 

Love above what is self, is small, 
Each one put to mighty test 

To bring him to mighty best. 
Many lives to paddle through 

To get a single soulful of you. 
Better you wait — not too fast! 

Try to have another look 
Wider than your peek-hole nook — 



178 Village Fool 

Eternity is never past, 
The soul of things is meant to last. 

Life bubbles and puffs and pants, 

Heart rushes above circumstance — 
Did you think life was your only chance? 



BEN TOTAL 

Grasp the supernal hour, 

Take life by a clinch, 
Gather, my friend, your power 

Nor lose you an inch 
Of any way to seize 

The inborn gem of you, like these 
Red poppies hold to their red 

Nor take that poke-leaf color instead. 

Ben Total I shall tell you of. 

High Ben, as he was known 
For his way his hat would doff. 

His chin-weed whittled to a cone 
To point you always to his toes. 

The choice end of him, you would suppose, 
By his new boot copper glow. 

By his strut he took to go, 
By the puff he blew to show. 

One thing he thought to be — 

Himself just — so much to his credit! 

Never he looked to a man to see 

His gizzard, or the way he fed it. 

But always his own way he took 

To perch, crow, flap, shine, spit, and look, 
179 



i8o Ben Total 

By which, and think as you may, 

He took his own tune and way 
Of playing, and said his say. 

What a power is this 

That a man shall be 
What is wholly his. 

Catch divinity, 
Power to perch alone 

Like the silver star 
In a purple throne 

Where his sunfields are, 
His high self to show 

As God made him, so 
Never to crawl to come 

Under your heel and thumb 
While the world 's a stair, 

While the truth is fair, 
While the stars are there! 

Yet was his thought, Ben's thought, I have said, 

Bent more on his boots than on his soul. 
How he should carry his top feather red 

To come to distinction of nowl. 
Twist two tie-bows in his shirt 

To give one diamond the proper squirt 
Of fire, for that way he might 

Play globird, one speck of light 
So he should be wholly kept in sight. 

One so small side of Ben was this: 
He liked to see the people take 

His says and ways, copy his 

New noon-walk, his elbow-shake, 



Ben Total 

Use him as men use a map 

For the dots on it and breadth of lap, 
While so he was pleased to see 

Men, his neighbors, come to be 
Talking walking just as he. 

Soon it came about for fact 

Men, his neighbors, nothing lacked 
But they were Ben in boot and hat 

And waddle and corner-chat, 
Ben all over for looking at ! 

His way always men would come, 
Watch the twiddle of his thumb, 

Envy such duodenum! 

One day came a thought to marry, 

Took hard hold of him in truth, 
Nor was reason he should tarry, 

Being well on past his youth — 
Just the thought to take a wife. 

To chance it for luck and life! 
Was he not of such renown 

To be copied up and down. 
Set the go-gait of a town? 

Was he not now all there was 

Left of a man in that one place. 
All men like him in cut and clause, 

Neither inkling left nor trace 
Of one man in the village then 

But he was, crop and fling of him, Ben? 
All men like him, pelt and limb. 

So count it not an idle whim 
They were only part of him. 



1 82 Ben Total 

Ben Total, for so they named him when 

None could tell him from other men! 
One girl fair in the village grew 

Above others, gentle and true, 
Whom he loved, and the upshot this: 

He meant, if he could, to make her his 
With her wealth of wrinkled hair. 

Volume-eyes, siich spirit there, 
April heart without a care! 

So said he to her: "See how I 

Put the fashion for other men, 
Each one draws my pipe and sigh. 

Takes my skew and regimen, 
So look among them and pretty plain 

You see me over and over again, 
To prove, and I show you true, 

Just by this one thing I do, 
I 'm the only man for you!" 

"Not so, Ben," she said, "you are slow, 

Not at the head of men, for see 
They take your way and say, and so 

Another would do as well for me! 
Men you have moulded to one thought, 

This thing to do, that thing not, 
So now have a look to see 

What the full harvest shall be : 
All men all the same to me ! 

"Different are all men, God knows. 

Each man meant to blow his flower 

Of handsome heart, lordly pose 

For high standing and perfect power ! 



Ben Total 183 

You bend men so they come to do, 

To think and twist and squat like you, 

Nor greatness is it, will not draw 

Each to what God meant him for. 

Clean beyond your tooth and claw, 

"Each to grow wholly unique each, 

Little like as yonder peach 
Apes my Brandywine pear 

Which swings such tassels in air, 
Each to come to his own true power 

As a ledge will or little flower. 
Never once to turn to you, 

Take the toe-shape of your shoe. 
Swallow you down like a pigeon-stew! 

"Much is each man meant to show. 

Find his own way to color-glow. 
You not to shape him by your force 

To take your pitch as matter of course! 
Teach him your trick of striking, reaching, 

And, lo, a man is lost in the teaching — 
But you just to let him sing 

His own note, dip his wing 
His own angle, make him king! 

"What a world it shall be, forsooth, 

Such a bundleful of truth, 
Should all men think as one man thinks, 

We all huddled in one hopper 
Like a game of tiddledywinks, 

Chopped to sameness by one chopper! 
Have a way to think and do 

What is wholly highly you, 
Help a neighbor to it too ! 



1 84 Ben Total 

"Help a brother be himself, 

All his best he is by birth, 
Nor you to stand him on your shelf 

For mirror to show your worth 
Of cuticle and thought and hobble. 

How he took your twitch and bobble! 
Greatness is it not to grind 

Men to take your cue or blind, 
Swallow down your cut of mind. 

"So my obstacle is this: 

Now are all our village beaus 
So like you by analysis 

I should be puzzled, God knows, 
Right as I look from brother to brother. 

To pick one lover from another! 
Awkward, eh, yet true-stated, 

Not to know how he is rated. 
Know my mate when I am mated!" 



COME, COME AWAY! 

Sweet as purple in a lilac's breast, 

There she was by the pear-wall wing 
Of her cottage, there at her best; 

There her quail was gardening, 
There the sigh was fine 

In her loblolly pine. 
There the sun was ripe 

In each bon-field stripe. 

Come, come away 

While the hills are red 
In sunrise-play, 

While the soul is wed 
To such dressed-up day ! 

To the silver top 
Of mountains in air, 

Nor thought to stop, 
Nor thought for care, 

Or let us away 
To our cedar swamp 

For a day to play 
And a heart to romp 

As the crake is gay 
In his slick and pomp ! 
i8s 



1 86 Come, Come Away ! 

The longspur shall fling 

His song in air 
As his lifted wing 

And his swoop are there 
To give us his soul 

In a caracole 
Of flash and circle and pitch, 

Like a falling star 
Out of bottomless far, 

To land at his pickerel ditch. 

Come, come away 

For a look to-day. 
For a leap of play ! 

To-morrow will come, 
Have its maple-hum. 

Beetle-drum, 
Plash of the lapwing-leap 

In his apple-field heap 
And we shall be gone ! 

Only days are here. 
Soul is on and on. 

Yet the days are dear; 
Cock an ear to hark 

To the floating lark 
Ere night be on. 

Ere we be gone ! 

April again 

At the window-pane 
With its tune of rain; 

My cloud to dip 
Where the sun will rise, 

Get the scarlet lip 



Come, Come Away! 187 

And olive eyes, 

Get a foot to skip 
And a wing to rise, 

All of April rare, 
All a heart to share, 

And we shall be there! 



More soul is outside 

Than this soul I hide 
In thought underneath. 

Just as more breath to breathe 
Than this breath I share 

Makes the globe of air 
Which is not part of me, 

Nor self nor heart of me, 
This soul which I keep 

Though the winds may reap, 
Though the breath may sleep. 



Is the foot-path rough 

As the fight I give. 
Yet never enough 

Is this fight to live. 
This force against force 

To make for what, 
In the natural course. 

But power which is wrought 
Of the kick and blow. 

And whether or no 
I like it or not. 

This fight to be fought, 
This soul to be wrought? 



1 88 Come, Come Away ! 

Do I not see 

The blue round heaven 
Is spark and leven 

To you and me, 
Is bonneted blue 

To yellowness through, 
And all round us too, 

Round us everywhere, 
And we caught for fair 

In the tree-green net 
For all eons set 

In blood-red and jet? 

Does life mean care. 

Mean one struggle through 
To what is fair, 

What is great and true 
For me and you 

To be climbing to. 
Then is this earth 

All the struggle worth. 
Then is my sky 

But the other I, 
Then is my hour 

But the seat of power 
To hold to my clinch 

To the crowded inch. 

Both you and I 

Have a way to go. 

And whether or no 
I joy or sigh. 

There 's a point in view 
Beyond what I do. 



Come, Come Away ! 

There 's an end in sight 

Beyond human Hght, 
So I see my way 

By the finer ray, 
I reach to all light 

By my coil of height, 
And the winds may reap, 

And the clouds may weep, 
And the dead may sleep. 



We shall lie together 

In the sod out there 
While the sparrow's feather 

Dominates the air, 
And to-morrow's weather 

Is his sport and fare; 
Comes it then, that he, 

By his wing and glee. 
By the sun he blinks. 

By the storm he drinks 
Counts more than we 

When we drop our feather. 
When we lie together 

In the sod and weather? 

Come, come away. 

All is eternal day. 
All round us the planets play, 

The coppy trumps his true 
New glee to you 

Ballooning in the wind 
Where his cloud is thinned, 

Where his heart is pinned! 



igo Come, Come Away ! 

While the grasses play 
In a yellow day, 

Everyway, everywhere 
All which is best is fair. 

Life is all a conquered care, 
All is to do and dare, 

And we shall be there! 



MY XENIUM 

Oh, yes, I took him in, 

You let him pass ! 
You thought him no more than a temple of sin 

Or a lick of grass. 
So you left him to the gutter 

To choke and sputter. 

The poor devil was rough. 

Had wriggled enough. 
Looted pockets or what not. 

Played junket and sot. 
Played the fool 

By playing knave, thought wrong could rule. 

Hold you kind to him all the same! 

God made him ! 
Once he had a youth and a name 

And they stayed him ! 
He might have found better to do 

Had he found better in you. 

See there now up the road 

His critics bunched like a toad 
In some waterless land, 

Only thirst at their command. 
Thirst to see him go under, 

Thirst to shout their mouth of wonder! 
191 



192 My Xenium 

I knew him since he begun 

His verminous run, 
How he hungered to lampoon and loot 

Like an ugly brute, 
Took the wayward way and unfirm, 

Took the twist of a worm. 

Never he knew there 's a law of things 

Carries kicks and stings. 
Carries the almighty bite 

Day and night; 
Never he knew 

Beauty is not to be smashed askew 

And nought to pay ! 

Hellishness may have its day 
So as the honey-fly drives his sting 

And dies for having done the thing ; 
Never he knew 

Triumphancy is kind and true. 

Was he not taught 

Life is a game to play 
For all there is to be got, 

For little there is to pay? 
Did you not example him that 

By how you captured your gold and fat? 

Did he not learn of you 

How, what wrong soever he should do. 
What venomous ugly thing he should scheme 

In his drunken dream, 
Let him to any deep descend. 

There 's a Savior there at his elbow-end? 



My Xenium 193 

I am telling him this: 

Whine as you will, 
Or trump the tune of a robin's bill, 

Fact of it is 
Life is for cuts and fits, 

Is a game of quits, 

So you shall do 

The thing by you to be done 
Which is clean and true, 

Or reap the subsequences, my son ! 
Take my word to the hammer's ring, 

Performance is King ! 

Whimper and knuckle to God, 

Or dance your pie-fly dance above sod, 

There 's all power for you to choose, * 

There 's all power for you to lose. 

Your chance to knock under or command, 
And no Savior at hand. 

What I think luck makes only one law 

Of Beauty which things go striving for, 

Power by the genius of virtue, 

Never God to help or hurt you, 

Just the royalty of high behavior, 

Man his own God and only Savior. 

I found him at night ; 

Where he lay his lips were white 
As the foam-end lip of a wave 

And he lay waiting for the grave; 
Give me your hand, I said. 

Let go of the dead ! 



194 My Xenium 

Be man at it through 

To the hell-fire blue, 
To a wink of you ! 

What is there to be found 
In the universe around 

Like a conqueror of the ground? 

Be the God in you 

To dare to do; 
Look the God in you to see, 

To dare to be; 
Glory be yours from your first 

To conquer the worst! 

Have a go to it straight 

To be kingsomely great ; 
To know, by what God- work you do, 

Comes power unto you; 
To see, by the light I fling, 

Man is born to be king ! 

I smoothed his brow out, 

I gave him bread, 
I swaddled his gout, 

I bolstered his head, 
I brought the melon to his lip, 

I brought the flower-bird to ring and dip; 

I patted him on the back: 

" Your hand, old friend! 
Never you drop for lack 

Of peak to fly to or noble end ! 
' Your hand to the last ditch too ; 

Fast am I in this fight with you!" 



My Xenium 195 



So I took him to heart, 

Gave him a start; 
You should have seen him unbend 

Like a friend to a friend, 
Seen what great soul of a look, 

One open Paradise-book 

He gave me, worth more than you claim 
For gold or a Parliament name ! 

I took him in. 

You let him pass ; 

Man is more than a temple of sin, 
Or a lick of grass ! 



ON THE RHINE 



You know how a boy thinks, 

Clean keen-hearted between the winks — 
This boy I know walked along the Rhine, 

Saw the waves pearl and pebbles shine — 
Who could think what he was thinking of 

As he went along at a blunderbuss hitch 
With small knowledge, yet he kept on thinking 

What the world was, what most of it meant 
In the wind-up, what life was about — 

Would he be here long or be mustered out 
Ere his time should come to know and doubt? 



There he was — his soul in him 

Knew not one way to speckle 
More than his moon-cheek knew a freckle 

Spirit-most, while each spirit- whim 
Took never a thought of himself 

To lick his chops, mix God and pelf- 
Never was taught to beg, 
Never was taught to kneel, 
Man at it leg and leg, 
Man at it head and heel 
196 



On the Rhine 197 

To be all that was true 
Of himself as he knew 
He was meant to be free 
As a finch at his glee 
To soar highest to do 
All his best to be true, 
Nor a fillip from you. 



Ill 



You know how his soul was white 

As a first lap of sunrise-light 
As he thought, Could he keep it so 

In the post-pink of blood-vessel glow 
To come after — there was life 

Ahead of him for pit and strife — 
Large ways or small ways, 

The fight is there always — 
What could it all mean, 

One fat, the other lean, 
Strange mixture of bubble and sigh. 

All men living so they may die ! 
On he went thinking so, 

Only this one wish he had. 
To mantle to be of use 

Somehow, anyhow in the world. 
So much there was to be done, 

So much was wrong and strong — 
There was his mighty wish. 

To be of use in the world somehow. 
As he headed on towards the Coblenz Mart, 

Longing to do his manf idlest part. 
And the wish came from his boyhood heart. 



iq8 On the Rhine 



Bonn- College was where he was taught 

To be so much which he was not — 

Taught how to think your way, 
Taught to knuckle and trim, 
Taught to wheedle and pray, 
Taught to capture your whim, 
Take the thing you should say 
For whole truth, verbatim, 
Nor a look to essay 
To know what was in him, 
But in you, as if you 
Had the key and the clue 
To his heart, and you knew 
What was true of him too. 

There in your college he went fishing — 
Most he got was your hishing-pishing 

To keep him wishing ever and wishing 
To show you himself for what he was 

And none of your chop-eye or lop-off laws. 



Poppelsdorf Allee is in Bonn — 
What a chorus of trinket-trees 

To whistle in an afternoon breeze 
While I walk on and on, 

Each true tree like another friend. 
And I think their welcome will never end ! 

In where the sun was squeezing between 
Two tree-trunks, there could be seen 

My young man, nowise daunted. 
Looking, i' faith, as if he were haunted 



On the Rhine 199 



By a new spirit — there she came, 
Such a sweet girl to speak him fair 

As any angel, joined him there 
Between the trees — just her name, 

Fraulein, was all he knew. 
Save her eyes, which were perfect blue, 

Noble-kindly to noblest true: 



VI 



"Take a word from me, 

I 'm young, you see. 

But I have my own way of certainly knowing! 

Have a look to me. 

They are young, you see. 

Who are never too old to be growing ! 

"There 's a song to spell 

Of the philomel 

Now he tickles his tree into perfect ringing; 

How he leaps and lutes 

And the piemag flutes 

And the wind in the west is singing! 

"What a way he has 

In his bristle-grass 

Of getting the best of all kinds of weathers 

By plucking the cold, 

By tucking the gold 

And green in his forest of feathers. 



" Nor a cage for him. 
Only bough and limb 



On the Rhine 

For a leap and the top-end best of his songing, 

All a heart to give, 

All a soul to live 

For longing and singing and longing. 

"So much were not true 

Of the soul of you 

And you perch in your college-cage to be learning 

How ^schylus sings, 

Euripides rings, 

Or the wind in the west is yearning. 

"For they keep you there 

Under club and care, 

Shut heart in so only skull may be bulging, 

Nor a heart to give, 

Nor a soul to live — 

There 's a thought worth your while indulging! 

"More noble that you 

Be the you of you, 

Be the God of you for greatening and growing 

Than you lick their feet 

To be mostly meet — 

Who would turn a whole soul into knowing? 

"Go back to the bird 

And his song you heard, 

His tree-leap, his chorus for flight of a morning 

To know he is free 

As light is to flee — 

Build your nest in your yonder dawning! 



On the Rhine 201 

VII 

"Take to loving the flowers 

For their pretty ways; 

Learn to love the hours 

More than the days ! 

Only a maiden I, 

Just learning to sigh, 

Just coming of age, 

All title-page! 

Never I knew why 

I stop to sigh; 

Never I knew enough 

To question love, 

Only to play my part. 

The leaping heart, 

Only to love — 

There 's purpose enough ! 

New grass for growth, 

New buds for blowth, 

And I love them both — 

I love the winds to bristle. 

To stoop to tune each thistle 

To chirp and whistle — 

A summer squall 

Of fire and ball 

And I love them all — 

I love the leaves to deaden, 

For then my grapes shall redden — 

Over all and above 

I choose to love 

Rather than I know 

Why love is so, 

Rather than I think 



202 On the Rhine 

Of my meadowink 
Beyond that he is fair 
As a summer sky 
To float above his care 
To live, his fear to die, 
So he may pipe his song 
The short day long, 
So he may tune his soul 
To the rounded whole" — 



When — now like a packet of charms 

She was caught in his arms — 
Now as a sun-morning dips 

He was there at her lips. 
Looking for room in her eyes 

For his image to hide 
From his world outside. 

From a world which is wise — 
Down deep in her eyes 

His image to hide, 
Away from tree-leaf or heather. 

Away from his college of thought 
Where love is not. 

Never to question whether 
Or no or what — 

Deep in her eyes inside 
His image to hide, 

Farmost from book-leaf or heather, 
Where souls hide hearts together. 



NONCONFORMIST 



Be that, just that, 

You and you. 
The thing in life worth coming at. 

To be forceful true 
To the unique type of God in you! 

Have a look 
At lily or gentianella-book : 

Each flower 
Captures its own plump cheek and power 

By itself, never to copy 
Clove or poppy — 
Each yellow sun-glass hour 
Remains the same 
In streak and flame, 
While I marvel at the frame 

And purple of the pheasant-flower; 
You to your own way 

Of difference from the other, 
Your independent master-brother, 

To give play 
Each to his own sun-angle ray. 

Power is there, truly that, 

But Power for you to be striking at, 
203 



204 Nonconformist 

Worlds to be overcome 
Ere they strike you dumb. 

What value 's this 
That I stoop and drule 

To snuggle to some conqueror-school 
And I my own man-majesty miss? 

Difference is everywhere 
In plum, grass-path, panting air, 

In man, 
In ballading shrike, 

And no two tempered to ring alike. 
Look that you think or do 

What is foremost new, wholly true 
To show the pluck and ear-mark of you! 

One stands stronger than another, 
His whining brother — 

There 's the weaker one's new lesson 
To pluck up gizzard and to press on — 

One puts up his pallor-blue; 
Look that you 
Take carroty-red 
Or crock instead 
So you shall be native you — 

One thinks his endless God 
Flattered by whining psalm and nod: 

Look that you 
Have more of native true 

God-royal for the man in you! 
What of the upshot, or what the odds 
Since Ye are Gods? 

Your lake goes lilied, your garden rosed, 
Yet no atom is composed; 

Life, circumstance, form 
Pitted against the storm ; 



Nonconformist 205 

Endless agitation 
From child to nation; 

Little comes of ease, 
And very truly there is no peace. 
Comes one certain reasoning: 
Each very thing I am after, 

Ground-fat, palace-rafter, 
Gulletful of chuck and laughter 

Make not the thing 
The triumphant forces bring 

To put me to my struggling, 
But other finer far-off game. 
Not once the same, 
My shots at tempestuous frown 

Till the falcon world shall be brought down. 
Is there not proof 
The finest great best lies aloof, 
Elegance for me to match, 

Not to catch. 
Power for me to acquire. 

Nor only admire. 
Dominion for me to soar, 

Not to implore, 

Forces for me to snuff out. 

Never fear nor pout — 

One fine divine opposition-plan 

To force me to be man? — 

I for high choice championship. 

Never the whimpering coward-lip ! 



See again how the best in you 

Fights against all you hope or knew: 



2o6 Nonconformist 

There 's the thrush, 
Just his tiny throat 
For one clear new note, 

Then evening comes and his eyeless hush ! 
You would have him sing 

To no end of his pretty gurgle-ring. 
There 's my sonnet-bird 
At his fine last word: 
His best he would give, 
Half anthem, half sigh 
Because he must die 
That the hawk may live. 
There man fades to die away. 
There his trap-rock means to stay! 
There your strongest survives 
Out of noble lives — 
How often the best must go, 
While who is there lives and loves it so?- 
To prove me I come to more 
Than what is gone before. 
Than what I see around 

In sky or ground 
Which I have outgrown, 
Basket-treasure, chipmunk-throne 
Of grub-royal earth, to aspire 
To other living, vast-ways higher, 
Else what is this in man 
Outruns his utmost plan, 
Outleaps life or all he may do 
Of fine longing, purpose true. 
Till so he droops and dies 
And this world never satisfies? 
By opposition so will man 
Discover his soulful span 



Nonconformist 207 

Of king-independent-self, 

Nor meant for you or your closet-shelf, 

But all for his own supremest true 

Against supremest odds, 

Not to be dominated by you 

Or circumstance or Gods! 

So he shall not conform 

To temple-trick or chancel-storm 

Or you, 
Himself just for foremost true 

As God put him. 
You to not graft him nor uproot him. 



Ill 



Came one moon-like night, 
Every little star stood bright 

As eyes 
Full of young wonderful surprise 
As there stood my love and I 
In our hazel-bough patch. 
Yellow foxglove was there to catch, 
One bobwhite-whistle next by 
In the soft song of the trees. 

While we 
Lingered to hearken, to see 
How truly man is part of these 
His whistling butterfly-birds and trees 
When — Now it was time to tell 
How love went, to break the spell 
Of our evening wing and bell — 

Just one word. 
And, oh, how soul is heard 
And captured and understood 



2o8 Nonconformist 

Like my bell-bird is in his hazel-wood — 

Just one word was all 
Lip could master now I let fall 
My heart to her, lip and love and all 
My soul in her open palms, 
We there fast in each other's arms 
For love only, never the thought 

How love is wrought, 
Or why 
Soul speaks only by a sigh, 
• When — "Now we must be one, 
"We two," she said, in her pretty way 
To win me by lip and dimple-play — 
" All things under the sun 
Seek each other to be lastly one 
So the will of the kingdom of love be done— 
I to take your way or you mine, 
One unity which is divine. 
Never again as before, 
Each for that self-masterful poise 
Only tree-peak or hill-peak enjoys, 
But one soul between us more and more. 
Not to question why once or whether 
Two souls like ours should come together." 
"Ah," I said," that is Nature's gait, 
To join, submit, imitate. 
You small. Nature great 
That has brought you to her terms, 
Pig-uncle play- way of the worms! 

Two to be one 
For soul and purpose and creed. 
Then the duty of life is done, 
Man is to love, to eat and breed, 
What else goes there under the sun 



Nonconformist 209 

More than this that soul shall need? 
Hark, there 's my maple-top lark 
Full of his lifted song, 
His mottled orange mark, 
Dipping, for love of grace, 

His short life long. 
Careless, so he pipe his song. 
How death grins him in the face! 
He would have his ballad to last. 
The while he thinks it this life is past 
Right as he whistles his best and last, 
To prove there is other better 
Than life which frees him of his fetter. 
Since the world holds nothing new 
But soul in its each cut and hue, 
Foremost is to be true 

Incomparably you; 
Each the self-independent each, 
Each from the other out of reach, 
We two to be two, not once one, 
That way to count for more 
On differentiated shore 

Of sun and sun. 
What 's life, from heel to nowl. 
Save that man, tree-like, shall grow 
His ego-kingful soul 
To shape and blossom so 
His way, his new caprichio. 
And not a pinch of your thumb and toe? 

I 'm to be I, 

And not a sigh 
For what I seem to have missed. 
Since Power is there for me to resist, 
I to be man at it 'though I die. 



2IO Nonconformist 

Therefore will I not conform 

To priest or norm, 
Now all around I see 
What claims no inch of destiny 

With the best in me. 
What way this world has 
Of letting virtue pass ; 
How it is oft recorded 
The best is small rewarded ; 
How, by one brute-buoyant freak, 
Strong ones fatten on the weak; 
How my morning tulip-bird 
Dies before his heart is heard; 
How death comes — and worst, 
Truth and love pallored and hearsed. 
And there 's your pretty country curst! 
No, I will not conform — I can see 
My way to nobler destiny 
By one all-independent me, 
We two to count for more than we one 

When all is done. 



PEBBLES 

He was rich, this man was — they said it, 
He had a Bankdom to his credit, 

So was there primal cause 
For his thinking his way he thought, 
That all men could be bought — 
Rich and wondrous wise 
In this, which should suffice: 
Men and women have their price. 

So he would pause to look 

Women over as I pick my book 
From book-shops, sure as light 

He could wed the best of them on sight, 
For was he not made of gold. 
While what under Heaven 

To men is given 
With such sure pull and hold? 

It was one middle- August day. 

Each tree stood full as it could carry. 
Cricket and finch talked back their way 

Half as if they meant to marry, 
Now my gold friend watched in the grass 

A new maid, half -bonneted green. 
Cheek with an August apple gleen. 

An eye like a robin has 



212 Pebbles 

For fire in it, for mellow, 

While there he watched her for an hour 
Sport like a linnet in a flower, 

He for one lucky fellow 
To feel his heart jump, his cheek 

Bubble fire too, try to speak 

And not a thought would go, 
So was he captured and silenced so. 

How well she knew he was watching her. 

Yet not her one shy look his way 
As there he thought, while he could not stir. 

How her step was like the roundelay 
Of a wren — soon he must speak. 

There was more than he could say. 
Longer silence would be weak 

And his soul sculptured in each cheek. 

So — he plucked one moon-flower out of the grass, 

Handed it to her, then only said: 
"Beauty is there in yellow and red, 

Yet who could let the violet pass? 
Over us hovers blue wild air. 

Underneath is dancing grass. 
Lake that copies like a glass 

All the high sweet Heaven has, 

"Yet in among them you are there 

For perfect above all, for fair 
As copies no Beauty anywhere! 

Now as the chaffinch rings, 
Wind whistles, cricket sings. 

Let their wild chorus be enough 
To call you fr'^m your sky above — 

Be the soul of me, be my love!" 



Pebbles 213 

She knew him and loved him too, 

So knew how he thought his gold could buy 
Soul out of a summer skj^ 
If he loved or not, was false or true, 

Yet kept her secret as on through heather 
And larch they took the one way — 

Oh, what a dream is that young day 
When two souls breathe together! 

Soon were they sitting by the lake. 

She to shovel the cedar sand 
For lucky-stones with one small hand, 

He to wonder what, for her sake. 
He would not give up, undertake. 

While all the sweet wild while there stirred 
Not a nut-leaf you could have heard — 

Two hearts were talking without a word. 

Of a sudden she scooped from the sand 

One fiat fine pebble round as space, 
One side white, the other a face 

Of purple, took it in her hand. 
Then this way spoke to him plain and bold: 

"I know how you think of gold. 
Your way of thinking it means so much 

That women crumble at its touch, 
Lose their senses, loose their hold. 

"So this to you — I would have you know 

My gold-heap is large as yours, 
I count my thousands by the scores, 

So you may not buy nor tempt me so. 
More — I would show you what small stuff 



214 Pebbles 

I count my gold in a game of love : 
Here is a thing I will do, 

I '11 match all I have in the world with you 

"Against all you have — see, I '11 toss 

This pebble for gain or loss ! 
Who wins takes the other's all 

And with it the right to say 
If we two shall be one one day." 

By such means he saw his chance 
To get her by lucky circumstance, 

Since, if he should win, he could say 

She must be his if she would or no, 

So he bade her rattle the dice and throw! 
One new white place was found in the sand, 

The pebble she sent into upper air 
Like a bird from a nest in the flower-hand 

— The flip was keen as the throw was fair — 
Never was die so rashly tost. 

For there lay this truth in the sand — he lost! 

There he was now at her command. 

Pinioned between trap and trick, 
Face white as the wrinkled sand. 

The soul in him deathful sick 
At thought of having lost his hold 

On her, on his heap of gold, 
Love and fear., trace upon trace, 

Pictured so in his young fine face. 

"Farewell," she said, now she took his hand — 

It was one lord-orange day 
Of sun-wonder, chipmunk-play, 

Pretty cricket-virelay — 



Pebbles 215 

There slept her pebble in the sand, 

There too lay his whole heart — 
Oh, what is to hope or understand 

When souls such as these must part? 

Stood they there on the pale beach, 

Hand in hand, yet each to each 
Like a bright sky all out of reach, 

When sudden, just as he thought 
To speak, scarce knowing what, 

Save one poor whisper to tell 
The breathless fearful farewell, 

He half felt how his hand was caught 

By one little firmer hold, so 

As if it was not meant he should go, 
Then — she drew him to her her gentle way. 

While there they were lost in each other's arms, 
In freshets of such summer day 

Of tree-angles, cup-lily charms — 

"I only wanted to show 
Only love could buy me — now you know!" 



DOCTOR AND PATIENT 

Doctor : 
My doctor's office-boy's mistake 
To put pills before powder, 
As if one were cake, 
'Tother chowder! 
There 's the boy of it — i* faith 
A boy has wit in his wool 

To see a stomachful — 
Give him that, you may give him death ! 
Your tongue! — 
Pinky fair, 
Good for chat-song or blare 
If you have the lung! 
Red mullet and mulse 
Put kick to the pulse, 
So why this pallor-look 
Of a perishing lip, 
White and thin as leaves of a book, 
Scarce open for scarce a sip 
Of the plenum air. 
Yet so wondrous fair 
As it fades 
Beyond thorn-apple, fluellen-blades, 
I wonder what it is that 's there! 
216 



Doctor and Patient 217 

Patient: 
Wherefore, then, powders, pills? 
Did you think the best of strife 
Or a foremost aim of life 
Is to conquer human death and ills? 
Have a look to it to see ! 
Now you say Beauty shows 
For more and more in me 
As pulse quickens, life slows! 
There I was once for such 
A round rose-girl as chime 
Put dancing to you many a time, 
I the spring-leaf in purple thyme, 
Yet you gave me never thought nor touch. 
Then was it I so loved you — 
It may have been because I knew 
There was no hope of having you — 
It might have been for what I saw, 
You, of all men, worth living for — 
Or may be I only longed 
For only what belonged 
To me out of the vast whole. 
You just, part of my very soul. 
Those were holly-sun days: 
How I kept to my heart and ways 
Among moth-mulleins and peach, 
Stripes of stars, plum-ended vine. 
All Beauty and all mine. 
And you there so all out of reach! 
How a woman may not speak 
Lest this weak world think it weak 
To climb higher than trap-rock art, 
Perfect silence of the heart! 
So you never knew! 



2i8 Doctor and Patient 

It might have been different with me 
Had I been perfect open-free 
To unsoul my soul to you. 
But you never saw! 
I obeyed the order-law, 
As one morning — I know the day 
If I see it in the mouth of May — 
We both took one cross-cut path 
By Bell-Heath if we might catch 
The rondel of a robin, match 
His rust-red throat, olive patch 
With sun-laps across rath — 
You, so, stepped ahead a piece, 
Nor a thought of me, only of these 
Or those oak-angles that elbowed you 
To look their way — I knew 
My heart had a thing to do. 
So broke ranks, put out both palms 
Far as I could reach these arms 
To offer my whole soul to you 
And you turned — I took alarms 
At thought of being seen by you 
Trying to be frank and true. 
So righted myself, carried arms! 
That way I lost you — you knew 
Never how I could be lovemost-true. 
Your heart-part and the whole of you. 

Doctor : 

There now let that be past ! 

Let us to the task of recompletion ! 

My powders first, deglutition, 

One fight for life, that you may last 

To snare crimson in the lip again, 



Doctor and Patient 219 

Fling purple eye-light to dart 

Such flash of heart 
As was your wont once, then 
One leap of life for joy again 
By linn, by open stretch, 
Play the bee-bird in a shower 
Of sun to trap the gillyflower, 

Nest in your bunch of vetch, 
I there to be caught, sun-like too. 
At the eye and throat and lip of you. 
Life let us court, not death! 
Once more the sun-honey breath 
Of bright morning, now I see 
Love in you, love in me. 
That all may come around 
Which hovers for us above ground 
To gladden and superabound! 
Never before once I saw 
Beauty such as now in you 
As you lie there I 'm pleading for, 
Soul perhaps, as if it could see 
Through the thin cheek a way of escape 
From the watchfulness of me 
And I see the look of it and shape. 
There, so, your hand — so! — 
You shall not go, you shall not go! 

Patient : 
Your powders then — each one I '11 take — 
Would they might bid me wake, 
Knowing, and so well I know 
I would not leave you so ! 
Yet strange to stupendous strange 
Men may not see beyond the range 



2 20 Doctor and Patient 

Of cheek-sight, body-change, 

To have one look to what 

Remains always to be wrought 

Out of what is, and always better 

Than the old clutch or foot-fetter 

May compass. Be it 

What may be, yet you see it 

Now for something fairer in me 

Than before ever — my lip is white, 

Cheek slowly dropping out of sight, 

Yet mark how, just as I go, 

I have more hold of you — you see 

One new look of finer glow, 

Sky-heart in the face of me, 

Which is soul, else how could there be 

More of me to love each day 

As the little body slips away? 

Once I was round and red 

As any girl, yet not for you 

Was I worth any looking to 

More than the others, so you said. 

These arms held out to you my heart, 

Soul and body. In each eye 

Stood love-light, while just apart 

That May morning from where you brewed, 

Had you harked, you had heard my sigh, 

My soul- whisper, if you would. 

I could not have you then, 

Much as you saw, past doubt. 

How I had singled you out, 

My choice-chosen one among men 

Now is so little left to me 

Of body, and you begin to see 

Such fine other side of me. 



Doctor and Patient 

You would stay me, call me back 
To linn-beach, purple morning track 
Among sea-lemons, whimbrels, 
To dance, you to tap the timbrels 
For song and lip and glass. 
Nor see my soul there as I pass! 

Doctor: 

Life is all — after this 

What 's to gain or miss? 

They have it to make most 

Of sun-patch, meadow-breath. 

Who play shy of pretty ghost, 

Play for life, not death. 

What, i' faith, do you spy 

For power in you now you lie 

Powerless there as chaff 

In a hurricane, your staff 

Of life only weak death. 

You scarce able to draw a breath? 

Your love of me, my love of you. 

What boots it, where 's the prize 

When lip withers, bosom dies? 

Here 's proof, my tiny powder: 

Take it, just once again, 

To wear starlight, silver rain 

On the linn-path — louder 

Life calls than death to you — 

I have my right to you, too, 

Just for one vast love of you. 

Proof that life is all? 

This powder! How pittance-small, 

Nothing most, yet will it keep 

The eyelid from everlasting sleep. 



22 2 Doctor and Patient 

Lift you to reel and dance again 
In the sun-sistered grain. 
What you call soul shall stay or go 
All as my powder wills it — so 
There 's a way for you to know 
This powder, my powder is king, 
Soul nothing, life the only thing. 

Patient : 
Ah, but I lose you so 
If I could turn track, 
Turn to wander back 
To life of your sunful glow. 
As once I was pink-ribboned and fair 
As flesh is, snug in my chain 
Of pretty links of purple vein 
To hold me, to keep me there 
For you to take, yet you would not. 
Nor give me more than one little look 
You give the fly-leaf of a book 
Not worth the thumbing of a thought. 
I was vermilion in the lip, 
Eye-life, tall happy heart 
For you just, yet not one sip 
You cared for till now we must part 
And you see more clearly through 
The white vein than the red or blue 
How my soul deepens and longs for you. 
I go back? — oh, never 
Is a step put back 
On the forefingered track 
Which points off, points on forever! 
You shall follow me through strips of cloud 
To where my star tries to hide 



Doctor and Patient 223 

On the other side, 

Shall pick me out of their crowd 

Of worlds — not for you 

Is any loss of what 

Is highest best, spirit- wrought 

For Beauty which is true 

As truth is in the soul in you, 

And lasting too. 
I may not turn back to you; 
Soul must go its way 
Straight on, more soul for coming to. 
New other kind of power in view 
Than makes for breath, palate-play 
To spin life out. As if no other 
Could rival your spoonbill wisdom-brother! 
Body will wither while soul will not ; 
Sew that patch on your pauper thought ! 
Death comes to put us to the touch. 
To find little of us or much — 
What opportunity like it such, 
What hour so generous-ripe 
For masterfulness of the hero-stripe? 
Light pick-work, tomfoolish play 
Men make of it in the clay. 
Life 's too bonny short to make point 
Of jowl-rule, brisket-joint, 
Seeing, as I see now, how the whole 
Is servant to one mute magic soul. 
Stick to flesh-pots, play cyprus-sipper. 
Drink like a tub-worm at a dipper. 
Yet shall you follow me 
For more which is yet to be 
Than you may gulp at or pocket. 
Play your part of grazing brocket, 



2 24 Doctor and Patient 

Till lastly you come to know 

Soul would not have it so. 

Spirit speaks out in the long run, 

More 's in keeping than moon and sun — 

See how the troops of stars are fair, 

Yet what small part of heaven they share! 

Doctor: 

Oh, but not yet! Not half so soon! 

See, there waits for us the blond moon, 

Sunburnt, all always June ! 

Just beyond over your pasture-wall 

Each bee-bike houses new cells. 

Your corn-crake hides in trumpet-bells, 
Gives you his newest call 
To go and try and find him. 
Yet you will not mind him ! 

See how the vast world is fair, 

Puts all arms out to you. 

Hands of flax, fire of dew 

To spread one pink-shot heaven for you 
And you do not care ! 

Love comes and now you must go. 
If the law be so. 
Into outer air. 

Where none may guess at it to know 
If any more be there 
Than spits of grasses to wave 
Over one little gravel-grave. 

Love comes, yet now you must go, 

While wait for us in each field 

Dogrose breath, freshets of breeze 

In thorn-broom, knee-buckle trees 

And their bird-bugling yield! 



Doctor and Patient 225 

Life, joy, love — all these to forfeit, 

Nurse your sick inch of hope 
Of some sky-ended profit 

At which you only squint and grope 

To find the nothing there is of it ! 

Off at a gallop is life, 

Spurs to the straddle and strife. 

Hold to the dash which is Might, 

There 's the keen genius of Right ! 

Life is put up for a fight 

For more life, just for more power 

To suck breath from a flower. 

Stagger the kick and the blight. 

Hail to the talent to live. 

Power to take and to give! 

What else is certain as this. 

Life is to win or to miss? 

Tumble-rough pig iron bully 

Makes the best of it fully. 

More there may be or may not, 

There 's mere matter of thought. 

Life holds the steeple and ring. 

There 's the sweet truth of the thing ; 

So at it, let us be off 

At a gallop, luck in the rough, 

To pick sun, gather yarrow, 

Man is small as a sparrow — 

Try your luck, better trollop 

Than you die like a scallop ! 

Patient : 
Best you know your best way 
Is to gain a point of power each day 
To follow me my way 



IS 



226 Doctor and Patient 

Of holding to what is best, 
Of letting go the rest, 
Jolly cockles, fly-bubbles, 
Balancing sweets and troubles. 
To come to dominion the whole, 

Come to power, which is soul. 
Eye-laugh, hair honeysuckle, 
Girl-gurgling heart, soul-chuckle. 
Were mine once, yet you would not take 
A thought of me. Now that I make 
For spirit-shape, which is new. 
Other wholly than what you knew 
In me when I was life-loaded too. 
You would have me back again 
To your purposes, vanity life 
Of lover, belle-petticoated wife 
To bear your young, as if that 
Were most this soul is driving at 
Like a hog-hawk, to practise rat. 
Count noses and gold and fat ! 
What I am now, my word to you, 
Is more than ever before I knew 
To dream of — here about me close 
Is not lavender nor rose. 
Not white light, not conch-blue 
Nor what prettys your world to you, 
Nor makes for power in it, nor longs 
For cymbals, belladonna-lily songs 
On happy highways, never stretch 
Of poppy, Silvester- vetch. 
Lattice-leaf, which once I had, 
Sun-patch to make me glad — 
Yet all about me throngs 
Heart-ring of a thousand songs, 



Doctor and Patient 

Such Beauty, such as you 

Could not put your thinking to 

To call it song or strong or true, 

Corn-color, citron, Saxon-blue, 

Nothing I could tell to you 

Save Beauty on the spirit-side 

Of loveliness, such as is fair 

As no star yellows in blue air — 

Of Beauty such as if what I saw 

Were more than all heart could hunger for — 

Of Beauty such as if Right 

Beamed by a new other kind of light 

Men saw never nor could capture 

For the soul in it of heart-rending rapture — 

Of Beauty I see, now body dies 

And I seem to be all soul, all eyes 

To compass unlanguaged deeps 

Where soul wakes, body sleeps — 

Of Beauty which bells bells in me 

Like nothing between heaven and ground, 

As if the vastitude around 

Were Beauty, all a part of me. 

My own, my all I seem to be — 

And you — have not a fear, my love of thee 

Is fettered as the stars are fixed, 

And, like their breath of gold, is mixed 

For Beauty in my eternity! 



BOY SONG 

Boy and girl together, 

I and you, 
To snicker at this weather, 

Drench or dew — 
A world would never miss us 
Without a chance to hiss us. 

Let us try together, 

You and I, 
Robins of the hether, 

Try to fly— 
A world would never love us 
If it could fly above us. 

Overtop the devil, 

I and you. 
Error and the evil 

That men do — 
A world would never follow 
A hero in a hollow. 

Take life on the wing, 

Fear it not ! 
What a soul-rotting thing 

To be bought, 
To let the Heaven choose us. 
To let the devil loose us ! 
228 



Boy Song 229 

Not for naught, not for long, 

You and I ; 
" Higher up," there 's your song 

Of the sky; 
Spirit fairer than ever 
To tempt men forever. 

Not for pay, not for gain 

Is the life, 
Nor for loss nor the pain 

Of the strife; 
Hard hits make the whole of it 
To chisel the soul of it. 

Meant for love are the days, 

Not for fear; 
To the lute of their lays 

Bend an ear; 
Beat your right time to a ring 
All for love of the thing. 

Think it out, think it clear, 

Think it you! 
Come to your truth by no fear, 

Old or new ; 
Hold to a thought that is yours 
All in spite of the Powers! 

Pick for truth together, 

You and I, 
Robins out of hether 

Unto sky; 
Yet let us try the hether 
Before w^ tempt the weather ! 



230 Boy Song 

Yet is it school, all school 
To one end; 

School for foe, for fool 
Or for friend; 

So sweet lips the ghost of it, 

Try to make the most of it ! 



ONE AFTERNOON 

Those were wonderful days by the sea ! 
Do you remember those days 
Made of purple haze, 
Leaves in glee? 

Remember what sea-song loaded the wind, 
How our northern clouds were thinned. 
How the white waves grinned 
Where we went 

Along the beach with so much content 
And love, as we thought it then, 
Thinking how and when 
There should be 

One universe just for you and me? 
For there is one master truth 
We thought of in youth, 
Nothing too much 

For soul to swallow by sight and touch. 

Nothing too great to be known, 

Or nothing too much 

To be grown 

In my inside heart so I may own 
All there is which is wide 
As the Dog-Star stride, 
Worlds beside, 
231 



232 One Afternoon 

So I make certain how all I see 

Makes but part of what I shall be, 
All eternity 

Part of me; 

For take the vastness of what I call 

Great worlds, endless worlds, no all, 
And I seem so small, 
Yet I see 

They make but part of the whole of me, 
This sufficient soul of me 
To feel and to be ! 

Mark your moon, 

Or Vega forever overhead, 

Dying always, never dead, 
And his shroud is spread; 
Mark how soon 

I travel yonder to each new star. 
And it matters not how far! 
Take this for thought: 
Am I not 

More than the angle Capricorn makes. 
More than Pollux undertakes. 
And I come to see 
How he, 

To get his Beauty must come to me? 
Or over there where he sleeps, 
Yet his watches keeps, 
I may see 



One Afternoon 233 

Bundles of worlds all eternally 

Making for power and to grow 
To star-spots to glow, 
Yet I see 

They only glow in the eyes of me ! 
In this soul I kept awhile 
Just under your smile 
You could see 

Finger-ends reaching for more to be, 
As once on this beach we stood 
In another mood 
Just to think 

Of love and its little passion-link, 

While now that the link is snapped, 
Body handicapped. 
Lip and cheek 

Scarce a corpuscle left to speak, 

You may begin now to see 

More is of you and me 

Than you thought 

When all but lip and cheek was forgot 
That light love-day you and I 
Hung to cheek and eye 
And breast 

And Hp-hug — what counted the rest? 
Now are the stars out bright 
In this perfect night. 
And you know 



234 One Afternoon 

Body breaks, yet love is not so, 
But gives you its full glow- 
Now your day is gone, 
Night is on. 

Have one look to the sands to know 
How they hang together so, 
All as if they knew, 
Well as you. 

This love is the lasting one thing true! 

So take a thought to this end: 

See the back unbend, 

Body break, 

Yet soul forever leans wide awake 
If you take this thing to heart: 
They will break and go, 
Cloud and glow, 

Yet you and I were not made to part. 
Soul is more than head and heart, 
Mighty more than all 
Great or small. 

And one day I shall come to your call. 
Mark how^ worlds to worlds will run. 
How sun ties to sun, 
You and I, 

Do you think, meant only to die. 
Meant for one life and its fling. 
As if that were most 
God could boast. 



One Afternoon 235 

While you see how the atoms live and cling ? 
So I thought, down on the quai, 
As I took my way 
There to-day, 

Of those wonderful other days 

You and I once took our ways 
By the sea for love, 
Thinking of 

Only how we were made each for each, 
Never thought how out of reach 
Much is in one life 
However rife, 

Thinking only how much we should be, 
I to you as you to me — 

Then came life between 
With its screen, 

I only I, while you were all queen. 
And somehow I thought I knew 
What was right to do 
For me and you, 

So we parted and you went your way 
Of life for a lap of play, 

I to my lap of thought. 
Yet not 

In all these years were you once forgot, 
Or loved less than you were then 
On the sea-beach when 
Life was less 



236 One Afternoon 

Than you with your world of loveHness, 
While now in your heart I see 
My place there for me 
As before, 

I to cling to it more and more — 
Do stars to each other fly, 
The while you and I 
Draw our sigh 

Just only to pass each other by? 
One day this body will snap. 
Pitch out of my lap 
Of thought, 

Be brushed aside to be clean forgot, 
Yet there remains this I 
To be reckoned with, 
Soul the pith — 

See how it does not want to die ! 
Yet is death nature and so 

Knuckles and chuckles must go, 
But yet 

I am all I, do you not forget, 
My intact self to a dot, 
Nor a fever spot, 
You shall see. 

May put a scar in the soul of me. 
Fear not, my time shall be yet, 
There is place to get, 
Worlds to do. 



One Afternoon ' 237 

And soul to join soul, this I and you. 
So thinking now of the beach, 
Those days out of reach, 
And we late, 

Yet this soul never once out of date, 
Never I come to forget 
How all time is yet, 
How all space 

May spare to us one small hiding-place, 
So one day you shall descry, 

'Though the winds may sigh, 
Worlds may die, 

Much is this something called you and I ! 



AGNES 

One mullein-stalk grew in a willow-wood, 
To a lake's edge the roots were glued, 

And I thought 
How each yellow-breasted flower was wrought 
To put picture to this very spot. 

Lily-bird in a branch next by 

Took up his notes between song and sigh, 

And I said 
How like a furnace his breast is red 
To warm the cold branches overhead ! 

One coal-feathered crow stood just in back 
To make the most of his dead-house black, 

Yet I knew 
He was of use in the white world too. 
Just as your dark in the soul of you. 

See, I said, those are yellowish wings 
The mullein-stalk stretches where it clings 

By the lake, 
As if there were sky and flight to take. 
Yet an old kind earth here to forsake ! 

Oh, Agnes, I said, there are lip and tongue 
In music now, and your days are young — 

Come and see 
How the wind is chopped into melody 
By yonder butcher-bird in his tree! 



Agnes 239 



Put an ear to this holiday time, 

Each bush will peal you one round of chime 

If you hark 
To the thistle-finch in his yellow park 
Shouting his soul out to make his mark. 

Oh, Agnes, here is just such a day 

As you and I made most of one May — 

You were there 
In your sun-path, and like planet-glare 
Was the sheen-dance in your velvet hair. 

Or what could it count if winds were wet? 
They drop their pearls to the violet 

All to show 
Whole worlds may shift, winds may leap and blow, 
But Beauty will capture the final glow. 

Oh, Agnes, look where your asters lie 
Like peach-bonnets in raspberry dye. 

And I think: 
There hang your grapeleaves, link by link, 
Will you not come while the willows wink? 

Will you not come to me where they grow 
Leaves for sun-blossoms so I may know 

There 's a place 
Which waits for you in such garden-space, 
Waits for your girl-grown picture-face? 

There I waited while she never came! 
Birds about me were calling her name 

At coral dawn 
As if to tell how spirit is born 
Of what is past in the world and gone. 



240 Agnes 

Oh, Agnes, I called, come once again! 
Here lies your tree- walk, your sorrel plain 

For one way 
You took with me that heatherbell day 
I held you in arms like a month of May ! 

Whatever a breath of life be worth. 
Soul is interrupted by this earth. 

But only so 
As clouds interrupt each sun-born glow 
To turn it to Beauty of chrome and bow. 

Could she come and I called? Nevermore so! 
My clouds took Beauty to break and go 

As I bent 
Where she lay, where her mullein-stalk sent 
One finger to point the way she went. 



JOCKEY-DAY 

Stars, how we flew 

To the quarter-post 
Like eagles to split the wind in two 

And horses most! 

I jockey, just jockey I 
Who drove the black devil. Furnace Eye — 
He was blue banner horse, 
All bets on him of course — 
But how he knotted stifles to fly ! 

On to the half, 

I was clean ahead, 
We scattered space like a strip of chaff, 

So the people said — 
My horse — how his ears were thinned, 
Laid back like tree-tops in a wind — 

Heard nothing when they cheered, 

Saw not when the half was neared, 
And a thousand pockets to him pinned! 

Now for the wire, 

One squat, one rush, 
Eyes set, two side-lights sifting fire 

Into spirit-blush — 
As I lined him to the pole 
I thought his black hide bristled soul — 



242 Jockey-Day 

When, just ahead, a child 
Crept in front, cooed and smiled- 
Stop could I not nor caracole 



Lest I should lose 

My inside place, 
And not a second in which to choose 

If to win the race 
And mix the child with the moor, 
A thing my heart could not endure. 

Or shuffle sideways instead. 

Let Cobwebs come in head, 
'Though it left a thousand pockets poor — 

When, quick as thought 

I shifted place — 
In just that instant the child was caught 

And clinging to my face, 
I third as the wire was neared. 
Fearful, each second, I should be jeered, 

When, the people from all parts. 

Like a hurricane of hearts 
Shouted my praises — oh, how they cheered! 

I to the stall. 

There to wait 
For the master's cut-loose caterwaul, 

His showers of hate 
For losing — no reason for! — 
Buried my bones in a clump of straw, 

Thought I could hear a sigh 

From the heart of Furnace Eye 
For having lost too — no reason for ! 



Jockey-Day 243 

"Mercy, sire, 

God knows as 'ow 
I could not kill the child no-ways, sire, 

As look at it now 
How I did me my best 
To beat the gang — sire, you know the rest — 

But to kill the child 

And it cooed and smiled, 
Not for this world and my soul and breast! " 

Arms both out wide. 

The master flew 
To where the boy shrank and winced and cried, 

Caught him, kissed him through, 
Held him as a Concord vine 
'Round a bough fastens lips to twine. 

And "God, boy, come closer — so — 

Tell me, did you not know. 
Did you not know the child was mine?" 



THE MAN OF IT 

Like as her cloak — 
And it hangs now over my shoulder-wall, 

Tassel and all, 
To do my law if I never spoke — 
I would hold her so she should see 

For the best of truth 

By a test of youth, 
How the best of all is the man of me. 

For so it is, 
Since I must rule — this nature makes it so, 

While whether or no 
I do my best, the one thing is this. 
To bring her to come to see 

How, after all, 

Her world is small, 
While the best of it is the man of me. 

My kingdom come, 
My will be done if I have her to keep, 

Take her to reap 
The best of her to lose not a crumb — 
I shape her shoe-latch to just my way, 

Each white new hand 

Like a velvet band 
I held for my own on her marriage-day. 
244 



The Man of It 245 

Love swallows love, 
Is masterful, jealous to full of greed, 

And the man-made need 
Is this : The whole is never enough 
To plump one fancy, glut my will ; 

I shape her bow 

Of shoe-latch so 
I shall be master and master still. 

Such is the way 
Of worlds — look I about to see 

How, fixed or free. 
Each star has a mind to hide each day 
Soon as the sun-lord sweeps into place 

With an eye-shot stern 

From his bosom-burn 
Which would see them quiver to hide their face. 

You bite your lip? 
Have an instant's patience and not so quick! 

You see I pick 
This polianthes' white-hooded slip, 
I crush it into nothingness 

To get the whole 

Breath-sweeted nowl — 
Would you say, thereafter, I loved it less? 

My essonite 
I make a knuckle of to keep it close 

As a Sharon rose. 
Yet so I may have it first in sight 
To clasp one finger, I to share 

The pink of it 

And blink of it 
That I may bend it to master it there 



246 The Man of It 

For part of me — 
See how it clings to my knuckle-end 

To glint and bend 
As I would have it — now shall you see 
How each new twist I give it will spill 

Another spark 

Between lids of dark 
And I watch it to never get my fill ! 

There shall be one, 
Not two — there 's the way I would think of you — 

While if you knew 
The atom-way since the world begun, 
How each two atoms must come to one, 

You wovdd say ' ' Take me 

For one with thee 
By the law of my love — thy will be done!" 

I see, instead. 
How you long for power that you may be free 

Of the man in me 
Which loves and rules — power to wed 
More freedom so to get more power. 

As if to rule 

Made one bosomful 
Of life, or made life worth an hour! 

My way of love 
Is to master to make you one with me; 

But look to see 
Yoiu- own way which perches clean above, 
Nor bends one hair of power or will 

To bring me to 

^ly step with you, 
So masters to overmaster me still. 



The Man of It 247 

As there you lie, 
A thing all Beauty so, just in my hand 

Like a garnet-brand, 
Took your red lip from yonder sky, 
Yet you keep me there fast to your cheek 

For not one word 

Which could be heard. 
But just by the Beauty which may not speak, 

Most as the bee 
Will light to strut his strut like a king 

On a clover-wing 
For the power of it to be foot-free 
To pick all sweet out, get his share, 

Yet this summer balm 

And pink new charm 
Will capture to win him and pin him there. 

The king am I, 
And you the flower of ople-tree breath 

Which whispereth: 
" My king are you, yet there you lie 
Like a bee in a rose and no way out, 

Since you would not go 

If you could, and so 
I rtile you, too, by my way, no doubt." 

So leave me be 
To be the man of me through and through 

To show to you 
My kingdom- will, that you may see 
By what I would do for love of thee, 

By life at its best. 

The world and the rest, 
How the best of all is the man of me. 



VIEWFULLY 



Man has of him more than he may be 
In one small pocket of eternity. 

There 's good reasoning to show me what 
Soul is, what it is not, 

A thing of which all things may he posited, 
Not to be shoe-shackled or once closeted. 

More of it always and always to be got. 
Made for greatliness somehow to be wrought 

Out of battle, the close clinch of resistance- 
There 's the secret of this existence ! 

One tumbles into one mistake 
Of mourning over his ache ; 

One whimpers at his pie-fiy lot 
Because he could gulp and glutton not; 

One groans at his hoghood belly 
Of kitchen- tricks, his mountain of jelly; 

Life looks to most like good to be got 
At high hazard and whether or not. 

While scarce the man looks ever about 
To see good in him to be got out. 

Look once to the east and north. 
Then to your force to be put forth 

For man-masterfulness to fight 
The Thor-God or northwind bite, 
248 



Viewfully 249 

While over in yonder warm west 
Is your sun-grave, your cenotaph-rest! 

Time has come in the world to own 
This soul is meant to be grown; 

But how grown? Scarce by evasion- trick, 
By kneeling to crux or candlestick — 

Now in the world is time it were known 
Soul was meant to be mightied and grown 

By battle, by just the bold master-lick 
Of pluck and purity against odds 

To force men to be dominant Gods. 



Once was this quaint story told 

In such long-ago day when men thought 
He grew greatest whoever got 

Most the world could give of gold 
Or joy or the glutton-lot 

Of cormorant to stuff his pot: 
Two men began life one way, 

Each his boy-heart and chuckle-play, 
Or rough at it for cuff and row 

The boy-way, as they know how. 
One grew up his way to think 

Man means mostly gullet and sink 
To take in, give nothing out 

More than bill-whistle, stuffy pout. 
Whistle to sound his pleasure 

Once he thinks he gets full measure, 
Pout if he fears he may get less 

Than his own and his neighbor-brother's mess. 
First he reasoned how he was hollow, 

(Right he might have been in that !) 



250 Viewfully 

Next he knew he was meant to follow 

One supernal talent to swallow 
— His point in life worth aiming at — 

So first the thing to be got was gold; 
What could there be in life without gold 

A man should cherish to have and hold? 
Book is to read, thought is to swallow, 

Man is meant to bend and follow, 
Is meant, too, to compass all pleasure 

Till he get his bottleful-measure — 
Not what he gave, but what he got 

He counted gain and lucky lot, 
While each new day most people knew 

The more he got the smaller he grew. 
How to grow soul was a thing 

Clean outside his reckoning — 
How to grow body fatful-tough 

Was art-most, so quite enough. 
So grew the body of him great. 

Pig-sty style made upper thought, 
Genius just to aggregate 

Stomach to hold to, whether or not, 
So there he bibbled and ate. 

So, too, he stuffed his skull 
Book- wise till each wit was dull — 

Also the eye must be glutted, 
Much as each cheek puffed and puttied, 

Till fairly he came to see 
What is, never what is to be — 

Gave himself up too to hearing 
Till soon he grew to be what he heard. 

Never his will to utter a word. 
Never one thought of interfering 

With wrong in the world he saw, 



Viewfully 251 

While truth was scarce worth breathing for. 

Each day by little, men could see, 
Soul in him grew less and less 

Down to next to nothingness 
Till now was left of him not so much 

As the tom-bee grapples in one clutch. 
There so he died, while one would say 

He grew nothing more than clay 
By his sponge-life and diaphragm-play. 

Oh, friend, soul is to be grown, 
As like your child in arms, 

To whom is nothing known. 
Soon will take on body-charms. 

While there I see him begin to grow 
From not a soul enough to wink 

Up to his heart to feel and think 
And greaten each way so 

From the thing he was at first. 
Scarcely more than his pump of thirst. 

Basket genius, surcloyed, cloddy, 
Little more than wholly body — 

And now the man — there the last whole of him 
Is the rising sizing soul of him! 



Think you all soul is there 
Whether you will or not. 

Or that soul is soul to be got, 
Like blossom in an April air 

Which forced one straight way up, 
Now at storm, now at sun 

Ever since the tug begun. 
First a claw, then the cup 



252 Viewfully 

And lip and throat to try 
One taste of orange water-green sky? 



My other boy took another thought, 
Began life by looking about 

To see what wrong he could put to rout, 
What kind of goodness could be wrought 

By the most which he could make of him, 
So he let the world take of him 

His best he had, struck to make 
Most of himself, put his world at stake 

To do the thing which was right 
For love of it, struck to do 

His highest most, his best he knew 
For never the half of a thought 

Of what he should gain by it, what not, 
Only that he should gather his might 

To straighten him to his highest height — 
No bending before Power, 

No whining, but just truing 
His soul to see it tower — 

Will God not see men up and doing 
To stand alone, to rise alone 

By force of virtue and straight man 
To deepen the heart, widen the span 

To reach inside the spirit-zone? — 
What shall the good God compass to do 

To put me crouching to him, to you? — 
Never an atom of you to cower. 

Yourself foremost and against Power 
By man-mastery to build soul 

Out of resistance and the whole 



Viewfully 253 



Of trueness, kindliness, virtue, 

And there 's no Power to stop or hurt you- 
Power is beyond me and above. 

Power for me to acquire and love 
For ever and for never enough. 



Such was his way he took to life, 
Did his best, hugged the strife 

Which allowed him nor kingdom nor wife, 
Kingfully at it to the last 

To stop never to count the cost 
Of his small world here which he lost. 

Now that his life was past. 
Now the thin vein begun to tingle. 

Now soul and blood grew slow to mingle. 
You would say surely he played 

To life which borrowed, yet never paid ; 
You would say his battle with earth 

Brought him the back slap of pure dearth, 
Left him bodiless most, old, 

Dewlap-wrinkles, fold on fold, 
Now soul was withdrawing from its mould. 



VI 



But hark, there 's a voice in air, 
One music- voice, like a morning wind 

Which never was lowered or thinned, 
A child's voice, the silver sound was there, 

All heart-leap and not a care ! 

Said the child: "I know of you! 
They say your way in the world was sad 



2 54 Viewfully 

Where the rest were merry-glad, 
They tell how you hung to what was true, 
Made the noblest best of you, 

"Till now they say you will die 
And nothing 's for you who did so well, 

Save only your passing-bell 
And narrow ground-spot below the sky. 

Yet never one reason why 

"You who are manfullest man. 
Who gave your life to the rest of men 

To have it never again, 
Should take your place, on the ground-worm plan. 

To die under mock and ban. 

"Just the child I am you see. 
And scarce a thing of the world I know, 

Yet this thought haunted me to and fro: 
One mighty bond fastens you and me, 

One love and one life to be, 

" Since you with the world are through. 
Have lived your life and are out of it. 

While I am, past a doubt of it. 
Not yet of the world to be or do. 

Only a child — so are you 

"One with me in this one way: 
Out of the world we are dropped, you see, 

Nothing here for you or me 
To look to, neither a part to play. 

And the world will go its way 



Viewfully 255 



" To leave us this much behind — 
Are we not one by the spirit-plan, 

I the child and you the man, 
Both of a soul which is high inclined, 

Both of one new unworldly mind? 

" Is there not for you and me 
Place in the vast eternal places? 

Think you their endless spaces 
Make homes for atoms and not for me, 

Waste lands of eternity? 

" More is man than man may know, 
For there 's my sign in my yonder star — 

Look how it smalls and is far, 
And now at my cheek with such copper glow 

That I may see and may know, 

" By what there is to be seen. 
How light in me is the light out there, 

How the soul of things is fair, 
How more is to be than what hath been. 

More than eye or heart hath seen! 

"So take my hand, let us go 
Our way, one way which I know of you, 

A way which is highest true 
To point to straight where my star-spots glow, 

And I will follow you so, 

"For love is long when you find 
Two souls which are one by the common lot 

Of Beauty and part-me-not. 
One above body and world and mind. 

All meant to be left behind." 



256 Viewfully 

VII 

He died — the child grew up her way, 

Took her place in the world — there 's much 
To see and think of and taste and touch, 

Many a game to counter-play 
Before soul comes with a thing to say — 

For now she was here at a dance, now there 
To hear one tell how her cheek was bright. 

How spirit spoke in her shoulder bare, 
In the elbow-point now the skin was tight 

To shine like an eye to you, brown and white 
Listened while one unbuttoned his heart, 

Not a trap- word nor breath of art, 
But she was his whim and counterpart — 

Men grew 'round her each mellow hour 
As bees light at their almond flower 

For what was most of her and fair 
To find opal only or topaz-glare, 

Just her cold color which was there 
As up she grew, as on she went 

Never to turn to the world one cheek 
For love, for one little incident 

To find her forgetting her childful vow 
To follow him who had gone before — 

She should have him her way somehow, 
Since always beyond us is more and more. 

So she grew old as he was once. 
Played her part in the world so well, 

Stood to hard duty against affronts 
Till now the neighbor ones love to tell 

How she kept her vow, how she did so well. 
Came through the world, would not part 

From her highway of the heart, 



Viewfully 257 

Her longing and power to do 

Her best, as he did too, 
To hang to the world to train each mood 

For mastery and some monster-good — 
Shall she not have him one day 

By her deeper heart, her higher way? 
Have you a doubt of whether 

Two souls like such souls come together? 



OOTRUM AND CORNCOCKLE 

Only a buttonhole knot of flowers — 

Her's was a way 
Each morning of each amiable day 

At early hours 
To tap her new garden-bed 
For a flower which was white or salmon red, 

While he, her pet of the salmon eye, 

Took his place 
Where he could show her his welcome grace, 

Could draw his sigh 
To be seen of her and heard; — 
As if his thin spirit could be stirred ! 

All things for him! So, smart as a wink 

She was there. 
And never thought nor blossom to spare. 

Corn-flower or pink. 
As .if his soul could be muched, 
Or the heart in him anyway tapped or touched! 

What of that? Was he not above her 

By height of hat. 
While what should a girl ask more than that 

Of any lover? 
To see him at his full height 

Was enough — men would fancy the girl was right. 
258 



Ootrum and Corncockle 259 

He was her right hand and ready choice — 

All could see 
Her eye dance like a meadow-bee 

At his voice — 
All could see her wince to show 
How she looked up to him, loved him so. 

Think you he thought the same way too, 

Had a mind 
For aught which was love or half way kind 

Or any way true? 
Not he, by the Powers that rule! 
He took his cue of another school ! 

Women to him were flowers to be picked, 

Were birds in air 
To fly to to get the Beauty there, 

Meant to be tricked 
And wheedled and fooled to death — 
What is life here more than a breath? 

This clean high morning of May she drew. 

For love of him 
And to please her heart and girlhood-whim, 

To where there grew 
Ootrum and corncockle rare, 
While she twisted their stalks for his breast to wear. 

I saw her rush to him, flowers in hand, 

As if to say : 
Here is my heart for you to stay 

And understand ! 
I saw her fingers do their part 
As if each had soul in it and heart. 



26o Ootrum and Corncockle 

I heard the gate growl as he went, 

For where I eyed 
I saw him toss the flowers aside 

As if he meant 
To put her clean out of mind 
So soon as he left her sweet look behind. 

There was I quick at his heels and took 

The flowers to me — 
Now was my chance to let her see 

His robber-look, 
His self, nor a word to shade him, 
But just as he was for fact as God made him. 

So next day right as she came to see 

Her flowers at my breast, 
Never a word, yet doing their best 

To speak for me, 
I saw, 'though no need of sight. 
Her heart prick the sweet lip red and white. 

"The flowers are mine, as you see," I said, 

"For I plucked them there 
As they lay in the grasses unaware 

Of sky overhead — 
Mine, they are mine and to keep! 
Will you wake them, or will you let them sleep? 

"I caught them right as he flung them aside. 

While but for me 
There they had lain for none to see, 

Had drooped and died — 
May I not wear them for true 
And for just my one manfullest love of you? 



Ootrum and Corncockle 261 

"For time will come and the whole truth will 

When you shall see 
Inside the soul and heart of me, 

Where thought is still, 
Your image, the which I wear 
For the power and the hope of me everywhere. 

" Do you love him now, one day shall come 

To think of it 
How his soul he has is gridiron and spit 

And bubble-hum — 
Lo, he shall pass out of sight 
As a cloud half hung to an edge of night!" 

Then came one tiny smile when she said: 

"Yes, you may wear 
My flowers for thought of me, if you care — 

But know instead. 
My heart has been stript and left 
That I may grow the wiser for the theft. 

"Patience, therefore, is the thing I ask. 

That you may know 
This soul was meant to deepen and grow — 

There 's my task 
To make my heart over new 
To wisen and deepen and grow to you!" 



KNOW THY TASK 



Now goes my scrub-man scrubbing 
At one round big pig-headed spot 

Which daubs his floor. If he tries or not, 
On he goes scraping, rubbing, 

Doing his mortal best at it 

To scrub the spot out, bit by bit, 

Never gaining ground a whit. 



Lather and sand, what a mess 

Of grit and grease and knuckleness 

He deals the spot to rub it out, 

Flings himself that rough about. 

One might say, and no jest, 

Give him time enough at his best 

He '11 rub the world out by his zest. 



Strange one thing about it was: 
'Spite of any way he worked, 

Of how his elbow jammed and jerked 
Like mulishness and never a pause, 

Never yielding his hold a pinch. 

In spite of his each dig and clinch 

The big spot yielded never an inch. 



Know Thy Task 263 

IV 

Spoke I to him then this way: 

You hold a purpose high in hand 
To take such spot out of floor or land 

And it a part of the common clay! 
Look how it sticks in place, 

Baffles you a thousand ways, 
Neither greatens nor decays! 



Mebbe if you stop to think 

You may choose to let it stay. 

Rest your elbow, save your swink 
For a better kind of pay — 

Spots are spots, one part of earth 

Meant to give the bright side birth, 

Show what cleanliness is worth. 



Or they stick like a gang of plasters 

To rule you, become your masters — 

Look at you now there trying to please: 

One spot has brought you to your knees, 

Hangs you on hinges like a gate. 
Puts you swinging early to late. 

Gives you your crooked crab-ankle gait ! 

VII 

Subtle spots — how little you know them! 

One way you have of thinking is 
You better be above than below them! 

Another view of the thing is this: 



264 Know Thy Task 

There 's your spot of ugly brown 

Underneath the feet of a town, 
Yet bends your back, holds you down! 

VIII 

There 's my spot on yonder sky, 

One cloud only, small as the pup, 

Yet has a sun for an eye 

Looks down to me while I look up 

To catch the up-Heaven view 

Of heliotrope quivering through, 

Cherry in a soul of blue. 



IX 



Rub and scrub and stamp — 

But look, there 's a light behind you, 
Only a bob-about lamp 

I place in front just to unblind you 
And, lo, your spot is gone. 

Has shifted back of you anon — 
Only your shadow you scrubbed upon ! 



Who may rub himself out. 

Work he never so wisely? 
Who may put soul to rout, 

Aim he never so nicely? 
Man and spirit are fast friends, 

Completely 'round him the shadow trends. 
Shadow begins where body ends. 



THE MAN MILITANT 

What could be worse 
Than a universe 
At poverty-pitch, 
You and you 
To beg a way through, 
Contented to tie a shoe, 

Scratch an itch, 
Happy at the thought 
Of what you are not. 
Your foot in my meadow-trap ditch? 
Our universe 
Holds nothing worse 
Than Power to be acquired. 
For look to the deeps to see 
Whole high sublimity 
Of Beauty, the Power to be desired! 
You are my militant-man 

To fight out a way 
To your new other day 
Of deeper sight-light, loftier span. 
So hark to my story which was told 

By people growing old 
In hill-life, mountain-climbing, 
So knew a way of soul-subliming 
By climbing and ever climbing. 
265 



266 The Man Militant 



He was thirty, my strong man was, 

Had fought his way in forty wars 
For single-handed mastery 

The way the world does to get power 
Which comes of hatred and devastery 

And men are taught to kneel, to cower. 
So he came forward in the world, 

Making his way by force of arms; 
He should be gold-purpled-earled. 

Take on buttony, kenspeckle charms, 
Play first host, popular prince 

To watch men buckle their lips and wince 
And wallow in subordination — 

What mattered the whole bright creation 
If he could grind his people down 

To lickspittle, worship his frown? 
What mattered it, too, if his father 

Picked life out of one one-handed farm? 
Would he not therefore rather 

His son should swing mightiest arm 
For certaint}^ to command. 

His word to perch law-like in the land? 
One thing in life he mastered first, 

To make his way up the world to most high- 
Shall a man not satisfy thirst. 

Glut his fancy ere he die? — 
So was his creed to crowd his way up, 

Seize the crown-most, drain each cup — 
There was the life of it, one high hill 

To mount to to get his fill, 
Nor look to it once to stop 

Till he should stuff his quadrangle-crop. 



The Man Militant 267 



Came now his time to love, 

Came now his first ghmpse above 
Commony, higher than the world, 

Sky- ways where light is hurled 
Against us that we may climb 

Towards it, moth-like, out of dark and slime, 
Soon to learn how man-hearted struggle 

Counts men more than to dodge and juggle. 
Gerald should wed, so the father thought : 

Soon came the lady, like blessings do, 
Oft when you seek them not, 

As if for sweet surprise to you. 
Came in one unawares-way 

Like this : One wonderful afternoon 
Of an ivory lapstreak day in tune 

He took him to the river, 
The deep Willowquiver, 

To watch his moonfish play. 
To wander there, perchance to think 

What spirit talks through a meadowink, 
Or sorrows because time has begun 

To pick wrinkles in the moon and sun, 
When, right as he halted at the brink 

Next to the bridge high overhead 
To harken to one bobolink. 

Watch him sidle from green to red, 
Sudden enough there caught his eye 

In the water-mirror under 
Such form of a girl as drew his sigh 

To hold him heart-bound just for wonder 
At the Beauty of her — nor he stopped to see 

If the sight could be true reality, 



268 The Man Militant 

But like an arrow in the blue is lunged, 

Swift as thought is, in he plunged, 
Down without a pause 

Clean to where the figure was 
To find, of all that seemed so fair. 

Only the shadow of her there. 
Up he came next, while there 

On the bridge, looking eager-wise 
To know if she could trust her eyes, 

Stood the same figure, sumptuous-fair, 
He too looking to see 

What he now took for verity. 
Such a sun-girl as the sun 

Seemed to cling to, each side. 
As if he were full of finger-pride 

At his masterstroke — now for a run 
Up the bank — now he begun 

His first lesson to climb 
Higher than life to what is sublime 

Above thinking, beyond doubt — 
Beauty — the only one thing ever 

Man looks to, yet may compass never, 
Past losing, past all finding out. 

Soon he was there at her pretty hand, 
Spell-held so by what he saw, 

His Undine-girl for not a flaw, 
She too all heart to understand 

He plunged in, never a quaver, 
Bounden to see if he could save her. 

There in that plump afternoon 
Of such honeysuckle June 

They stood on their semi-circle bridge, 
Each to look in the other's eyes, 

Two eagles on one mountain-ridge — 



The Man Militant 269 

Should they leap up to outface skies, 

Or make descent to pick up earth 
And its twopence- worth? 

Leastwise now the day was enough, 
So, too, was their purpose — love! 

Down to the fields he plunged again, 
Brought her one apple-blossom branch 

He smothered so in holly 
That she should see his heart was stanch. 

See he would clasp and hide her wholly — 
Then to show how he could love her 

Like aught below, since nought was above her, 
He pointed down in the river-deep 

To where her shadow now was fast . 
Like Beauty in everlasting sleep, 

Glad to have given up all its charms 
Into the lover-river's arms, 

"There," he said, "rather would I 
Leave life, plunge in and die 

By the side of you there where you lie 
In image, than lose you now 

I have you under sun and bough. 
As only my heart could whisper how 

I love — there 's your bottle-green 
Ribbon-flower, I see your star, 

Green too, I see it bubble sheen 
Or rouge of cinnabar — 

There 's your chat-call in yonder bough, 
Yet you may not tell me how 

He makes this June wind tingle, 
How deep in his dancing eye, 

Sprung wide at his own ballady. 
Fire and spirit seem to mingle — 

There 's Beauty under the sun, 



270 The Man Militant 

Star-ticketed, blood-shotten, 

Yet one thing nearly were forgotten, 
I and you were meant to be one 

Or Beauty to be left undone. 

Away, away 

Over meadow and sea 

For love, for a day 

And life with me — 

Few are the hours, 

Brief the play 

Of my sparrow- flowers — 

Life is to glut 

To the over- jut. 

Meadow to pick, 

Shadow to cheat 

All for a Hck 

Of honey sweet — 

Winds to their sighs, 

Sorrow to bleat 

And purpose dies! — 

Love is for lip. 

For whited arm, 

Never to slip 

The elbow-charm 

Or captainship 

Of one small new palm — 

Sorrow is long. 

Love as brief 

As your lilac-leaf. 

Life 's for the strong — 

Mighty or small. 

Make of it much. 

Death has a clutch. 



The Man Militant 271 

Lips have a tingle-touch 
Keenest of all! " 



Thereso now as they stood, 
Lip against lip at the bridge's rail 

Each in one life-forgotten mood 
When soul is master, thoughts fail. 

Right as he caught at her locks of hair 
To swallow the sunshine which was there 

And not a spark's sparkle he could spare, 
Held her for life, for death. 

Scarce willing she should give a breath 
Lest the corn-flower unloose its knittle. 

Reach up just to snatch a little — 
Right as he thought he had her to hold 

Fast as a strip of marigold, 
She looked him longingly in the eyes. 

Brought him to this subtle surprise: 
"My image is there, hung in your eyes, 

Just my image is all you see. 
Only a sunlight sketch of me. 

Nothing more than what you saw 
In the river just underneath. 

Nothing that could think or breathe. 
My image you plunged and sputtered for — 

A shadow is all you see. 
Just the tiny shadow of me 

Like nothing I am really — 
Likewise so is your blossom-lip 

For sweetness, and I must let it slip 
For the thin air which stands between us 

Just to separate and screen us— 



2 72 The Man Militant 

See, too, how you look to rejoice 

At my midsummer- welcome voice, 
When all you get is this message-air, 

Only the ripple of me is there ! 
Just to think of it how men look, 

And life is one conundrum-book. 
Nor matters it how they try to guess 

And the answer there always, 'Yes and yes!' 
So say I 'Yes,' there is for me 

One surmounting reality 
To ply to, put shoulder at. 

And no God lives to deny me that ! 
Try to look how you will to see, 

You get only the image of me 
If you look for me in my eyes 

Or down where the river lies. 
To prove you, by wind or rivulet. 

The time to have me is not yet. 
Is not here, is not now 

Under heaven, under this mountain bough. 



" So-ho, I 'm the mountain-girl. 
My people the mountain climb 
Fast where star-winds purl 
To tumble thought into chime — 
So-ho for the way I go 
Clean above earth beyond 
Doghood and bond 
Where my sunbeams blow 
Little crystals of snow 
Into amber frond, 
Into lilac- wings. 
Into heavenly kings! 



The Man Militant 273 

"So-ho for the way I see 

Above cheap immunity 

Always to climb and climb, 

Always from height to height, 

Always my blue-line flight 

Above knuckles and time 

For more soul and might 

And point sublime ! 

Never to weary a da}', 

Never to drop bj^ the way 

Is the life I sing 

For your listening, 

Is my calling of bride 

Up the mountain-side, 

Is my hope for you 

That you strike to do, 

That you follow me 

Where I look and I see 

Beauty beyond in the zenith blue, 

We to be one with it, never two. 

Your heart in mine, my heart in you! " 



Now an edge of evening was on. 

Softly she turned to him, lightly said: 
"Only an instant turn you your head" — 

Right as he looked again she was gone! 
There crept her river as before. 

Overhead her bridge was swung 
Like a rainbow of mushroom tongue. 

And not an image of her more 
In the river which wallowed under, 

He with his heart of baffled wonder 



274 The Man Militant 

To know where he should find her — 

Sudden her words were back to him 
To climb, there was her mountain-whim 

And he must follow, he must mind her, 
For had she not said: "Up above earth 

If you would get your trouble-worth?" 
Off to the mountain he followed. 

Dark was on, day was swallowed — 
What of the nothing-night 

So I hold to my peak of light? 
There was her noble mountain high 

Reaching nearly to the sky 
Where the color-clouds flower and die — 

He should be man for all might 
Through the worst of it to take flight 

Where the snows smuggle eternal light! 



Up a piece of the mountain now. 

Short piece up, there he saw 
One temple-dome Hke a narrow brow. 

One priest with his lobster-claw 
To clutch and chew and swallow 

The soul of a man if he came to follow — 
Said the Priest, with this smacking lie: 

"Since man was made to mildew and die, 
Better for him he knuckle under — 

Up above is a slap of thunder. 
Fire to split the noblest sky. 

So have a care how you venture up, 
Or drink wisdom out of a skull, 

Which, at best, is one shallow cup, 
Narrow waisted, bottom up, 



The Man Militant 275 

So holds nothing, but only spills 
Knowledge overboard fast as it fills. 

Above this temple you may not climb 
Whose dome is an envelope of truth — 

Here is a place to plant your youth, 
Since here is God's one point sublime 

Above which there goes no going 
Save where you see the wild snow blowing 

Into ravages to beat you back 
If you would mount by a higher knack, 

If you would transcend the Temple-track. 
But, hark, here is a temple of peace, 

Puts soul and mind of you at ease — 
Once you take to my way of winking 

There 's no further need of thinking — 
Be cocksure of it I know best, 

I give you dormancy and rest, 
Heaven to lust for, life to plunder 

If you stop here and knuckle under." 

Gerald. 

I lost my heart in the plains below, 

So is there any wonder 

I look aloft there yonder 
For Beauty, the way I saw her go, 

One way she pointed I should know, 
Her lavender-path, 'though it go 

Straight against winter's biting snow? 
Beauty took root in earth, 

One whole pink oleander-worth. 
But there it could not stay. 

So bore flightward one evening-day. 
And so I lost her. There she went 



276 The Man Militant 

Climbing this mountain-monument 
To Beauty, there where sun and leven 

Put their pigment of rose 
Or straw-stripe against the snows 

Which fall like autumn-leaves of Heaven. 
By just what a man opposes, 

That much he gains in power — 
See where your mountain rose is 

Higher than you, look how the flower 
Makes for height nor counts any cost, 

Hand to hand with fire and frost 
'Though the Paradise-fields below be lost! 

You mark time, set your limit, 
There 's your eyesight of the emmet 

Which builds you a dome like an ugly pout 
To shut your sky- view and great Self out. 

There are you hanging to earth 
And its hobgoblin-birth, 

Witch- worried, looking for pay, 
Cringe and worship and skulk and pray, 

Nor look how yonder mountain points 
Where Pleiades' lustre-spot anoints. 

For me no part of your earth 
Now I see how Beauty rises 

Where boundless sky and spirit-size is 
Above all price or temple- worth. 

I 'm the man for beating my way 
Into more than this cuticle-play, 

So I 'm to have my thought and say, 
I 'm to be I, there 's the princely point 

Puts your shy nose out of joint; 
I 'm to be I, there 's the kingly thing 

Counts without your reckoning ; 
I 'm to be I, no part of you 



The Man Militant 277 

For paste-pot service that you may glue 
My nose to your pet bugaboo, 

Since God made a man one way so 
He should shoulder-spread to know 

Soul was fashioned to climb and grow. 
By my life I will reach to Beauty, 

The thing among worlds worth growing to, 
None of your Heaven for booty, 

None of the halt and hitch of you, 
But mj^ way at it, mine, mine, 

This soul-self of me, which is divine, 
Out of reach of your tongue and tine. 

You proclaim the weakness of man 
And smallness of him, his sufferance, 

His mink-eyed insignificance, 
To map your ecclesiastic plan — 

I proclaim his omnipotence, 
His power of spirit for striking high 

As worlds puncture the target-sky, 
The will of him to do his best 

For none of your bribery or behest. 
His heart to love, to endure, 

While nought he knows, nothing sure 
Save the tiger-leap of death 

To down him and snap his breath, 
He single-handed against Power 

To snuff his heart out on the hour. 
He to pilot his way against dark. 

He to laugh at your blizzard-bark. 

He to endure as Gods endure 
For the true man in him, nothing truer, 

All quantity of new desire 
For highest Beauty, nothing higher, 

Foremost for truth, to hold to his way 



278 The Man Militant 

By not one quirk you have to play, 

His truth just, his merely, 
Howsoever it strike you queerly. 

For there's the man of him to be grown 
To own himself, he wholly his own. 

And nowise for once your whelp 
To follow your quill- whistle, bloodhound yelp. 

Ah, but here you lug God in, 

Tie him to my wrist or shin, 
By which you think to make more of me 

Than I alone by myself could be — 
You would see me dependent, uplooking, 

Good for a leaf in your noodle-booking. 
Whip-snap just, lip of wax 

To take impression of your knacks — 
While all the while is it not true 

There 's nothing nobler a God should do 
Than make another God of you? 

Oh for once to be like a God 
In contest with a universe 

From gaping sky to gaping sod. 
To care not for better, for worse. 

Nor for what may come in the end 
Save only where the stars abscond 

There 's other finer Beauty beyond 
For me to make to and make of 

And no lack of it, yet never enough. 
Seeing I compass more truth of thought 

Than in my single life may be wrought, 
Endless perfecting by endurance, 

By manfulness of soul and heart 
To make the most of me, do my part 

At self-construction by hard duty, 



The Man Militant 279 

By force of pure-hearted intention, 

No compromise, only fierce contention, 
To know I 'm building eternal Beauty 

By freedom more and more so to be 
Myself God-fashion eternally! 

Put foot foremost that way so. 
There 's no God to say you no, 

For what were nobler a God should do 
Than make another God of you? 

VII 

Higher than the church, up he clomb 

Sky-ward towards the purple dome 
Into which his mountain-peak jointed. 

Star-bottled, soul-anointed — 
Upward he made his way 

Above church to where he saw 
One other kind of temple-claw 

Up-reaching as if to snatch 
God-secrets, lift the latch 

Of Heaven — there in the rock. 
Stuck like a headpiece on a clock, 

Was the Temple of Knowledge, a way to know 
How sun blows hot and cold at me so. 

How a little gum-sweet ether 
Makes me the longer better breather — 

Temple of Knowledge — never he shunned it, 
When out came the thought-lord and master pundit. 

Gerald 

I lost a maiden in this mountain — 
What say if I tap your wisdom-fountain, 

You to tell what whim inclined her 
This way, or what way I may find her. 



28o The Man Militant 



Pundit 



Higher and ever higher! 
Knowledge may point only, may not tell 

The whither-ward of this human spell, 
One whimper of this soul-desire, 

One heart-beat in my passing-bell! 
Yesterday only I saw her go 

Above us to where the night-moon charks 
Snow-drops into jumping sparks, 

The Beauty of her fair as a glow 
You must have seen in an evening sky 

When clouds have descended to earth to die 
While they keep to their geranium-slip, 

One touch of Heaven on the dying lip — 
Up there I saw her go 

As if she sought the moonbeam snow 
For Beauty which was like her so — 

So say I your way is there 
Above earth, where hope is fair. 

Is constant, like the sky- white air. 



On up again higher still. 

Above knowledge, above belief — 
Now came his tug of will 

By each lofty effort to put 
More of his mountain under foot — 

Only one temple was there above, 
The over-dome which stands so fast 

For Beauty which was meant to last. 
All arms, one Temple of Love, 

Highest above earth, higher than you 
May get by your crochet-cockatoo 



The Man Militant 281 

Mouth-practice which keeps you trying 
To mimic so you forget your flying — 

There was his mountain high 
Leaning against the sky. 

The two of them cheek to cheek 
As if they had one heart to speak, 

When, right as he looked to see 
Such whirlwind of sublimity 

As twisted the stalks of snows 
Til they flowered like clover blows 

Or any marvel of bridal-rose, 
Right as the lightning was knitting 

Cloud and mountain together 
Til I would say the sky was fitting 

A new shape of orange feather 
To each snow-cap, all in a rain 

Of silver dust, each pretty grain 
To hold one little bloodstone stain 

For Beauty for crystal-fair 
Like flocks of opals in the air — 

Quick as he looked, there there came 
One cloud, hung like a curtain of flame, 

Which lifted, while just underneath. 
Snow-pale, scarce a wish to breathe, 

Was his loved one — there she lay 
In stillness, as white snow lies 

And dwindles just before it dies — 
'Round her was coral orange day. 

Such another day I never saw. 
Pink-lighted fire in lavender — 

Circles of strawberry red 
Made their wheel-work over her head — 

Such strange mountain pinnacle-play 
Of sun and snow-feather took place 



2 82 The Man Militant 

As never ever — there was the trace 
Of Heaven about her hiding place 

When now he did his best to draw near, 
Nor could he at once, such was the clear 

Strong dazzle of it where she lay- 
Like a lily in a sun-bath spray 

Of new other colors and keener play. 
First he must custom him to such sight, 

Which blinded, as if the treacle-light 
Grew Beauty only to pinch and blight. 

IX 

Now she saw him — how their eyes 
Rushed together torrent-wise 

Loaded with longing, spirit size, 
As there he was now at her lips 

Like a philenor at a pear-flower sips, 
Now in arms he held her to get 

Her heart-beat, her hair of mignonette, 
Her whole soul, held her close 

As south winds wrap a cotton-rose — 
His, his, wholly his. 

Not a look of her to miss. 
And she so gone, such pallor-glow 

As scarce he cotild tell her cheek 
From each shriveling lip of snow. 

Which kept curling and failing to speak- 
Scarce more he held than the ghost of her. 

Her sweet soul, best and most of her 
As faintly she came to lift her head 

For words — here is what she said: 

Once, when a child, I saw 

High in this mountain one mighty sign 



The Man Militant 283 

Of Beauty: In the mountain-spine 

Was fastened an eagle's claw; 
High overhead for sure 

In yonder deep, sky-pure, 
Flashed a jewel like a Kohinur — 

Next I saw the eagle's eye 
Catch the flash like a mirror-spy 

Till now he too could see 
Into his bold eternity. 

Made I this thought: I shall go 
Yonder towards the snow. 

There where my clouds are high, 
Spotted in lilac dye. 

Where the heavy heavens blow 
Their breath into water-lily snow. 
There will I go. 
Follow my sign, 
My clutches in the mountain-spine, 

Not alone that I may see. 
But to climb to it so I come to be 

Part of all Beauty eternally. 

This way I was bent that day 

I saw you just on the bridge below — 
There you tempted me to stay. 

To take your way of the world to go — 
Your shadow- world — remember how 

On the bridge I told you so, 
How you could only see 

Shadows, just the shadow of me 
For not a wisp of reality? 

This way I came to climb 

To this point sublime 
Of my marriage fire and rime. 



284 The Man Militant 

Gone is the most of me — 

How body has sickened, 

Eyelight thickened 
And you have only the ghost of me ! — 
As much just as you had then 

In the river, or even when 
You looked in my morning eyes 

To find me — I was not there 
For you to come to, for you to share 
In this one world by any-wise — 

More is my soul than you shall take 
In one life, more is at stake 

Than you should have me for your sake. 

See how this body wears away 

To tingle and rest no more, 
Nothing to be again as before. 

Our pretty play-life, our April day, 
For see how I knew you then 

By love just, only for love, 
Yet soul knew wiser, said no, 

Never that way, never again 
By lip or cheek of your morning glow — 

Soul will have never enough. 
For how it widens each new day 

While my poor body shrinks away! 

Here in this mountain I saw, 

From earth below. 
My Eagle Iron Stripes lash his claw, 

His broken beak against the snow 
Mastiff-fashion — there the sun 

Hurled threats like a monster myrmidon 
And he caught the fire-ball, never a sigh. 



The Man Militant 285 

As there it lay, 

Like a panther at bay, 
Closeted in his locket-eye 
For prisoner and peace — 
What Kingdomy like one of these? 

Now, I said, I will go 

His way, make my way so 
To perch among peaks, look down 

On quasi-men, caterpillar-town 
Of glue-thought, tapestried clown 

To see them pick sweets 

Out of honey-meats. 
Live their life of gozzan and gown — 

My way was hard — friend, 
Hardest is easiest in the end ; 

Hard to live makes easy to die 
If you get the loft of it loftily. 

Here was a beautiful thing 

Higher than earth I saw — 
Sweet as a mandolin ring 

Was a click of the eagle's claw, 
Deep as a sky for light 

Was the light in his eye I saw, 
Vast as a God was the power 

Of sovl he was fighting for, 
One tripod-grip on his tower 

Of lonely immortal stone, 
Heedless he of his dying hour 

Where he must die alone. 

Sudden I saw him leap 
Straight above cop and toft 



2 86 The Man Militant 

Into rivulets of wind aloft, 
Saw him plunge from deep to deep 

Where moon-stripes tie the snow 
Into fagots of sun-bow glow 

To shoot violet and crimson so 
I lost him — there he was gone, 

Never to turn to the world again — 
One was he with the orange rain 

Of star-sparks, coral grain. 
Where Beauty goes on and on. 

Thus far you followed me true, 
Far as this top of snow ; 

Farther than this you may not go, 
For the way is not known to you, 

The way I go beyond 
Higher than worlds you see. 

High as spirit is in me — 
Once I was tied to earth. 

Then I broke my ribbon-bond; 
How could it count the knuckle-worth, 

Your half-hearted toad-foot earth 
And I look beyond and beyond? 

Now you have come to see 
Out yonder where I go. 

You '11 find your way to follow me— 
There 's the world for you to outgrow, 

There 's Power to be overcome, 
There 's more of you to be, 

More of man-total sum 
Of soul ere you come to me 

The way I go, wholly out there 
In the crocusy air — 



The Man Militant 287 

There 's to reach and to be 
More of you yet, more of me. 

You have one soul to grow, 

Body as well — you make your showing 
Body-most, yet this is to know; 

Body will reach its height. 
So much elbow, so little might, 

While soul will keep on growing — 
Ah, but if you should not grow 

Sotil to a point of power 
To dog the eagle-flight to tower 

Beyond this pup-life of an hour, 
What is there else that shall last 

When the plump body is dust and past? 

Up this mountain you fought your way 

By storm-whistle, that 's to say 
You made havoc against odds. 

Against hand-buff of counter-Gods 
To where I am, this highest peak 

Of earth which a man may seek, 
Yet, now you look to see, 

You find only the shadow of me, 
Just that, nothing more 

Than what you saw in the Willowquiver, 
My artistic mirror-river 

You plunged in for my image from the shore. 

Land of shadows — there you thought 
You held me to your lip and cheek 

To get my glow-touch, hear me speak. 
And all the sweet while I was not — 



The Man Militant 

Here is no true reality, 

Here you may not put claim to me, 
Here is for strife to come to be 

More and more of you soulfully, 
That one day, one far off day, 

Where the eagle and night-winds play, 
You shall have greatened to see 

And clasp the very soul of me. 

All around I see 
Beauty, where I am to be 

Part of it — other voices 
I can hear, they seem to sing 

Soft as the rustle of a wing, 
More than the robin-heart rejoices — 

Sun-wonder, too, is there, 
But not a yellow I ever saw 

For joy in it, such bosom-glare 
Of supersolar law 

As puts my heart to spirit-glowing 
Beyond all other human knowing. 

Beauty 's about in catseye or blue 

For you to make it one part of you, 
One thing high-minded pure, 

So, like all Beauty, to endure 
Above wreckage, for see how the suns 

Spit fire to belch like battle-guns 
To hurl their blow of thunder-stroke 

In clouds for puffs of after-smoke, 
Yet over the havoc-plains 

Where world against world rushes. 
Fire eats, chaos crushes, 

Beauty ever remains and remains! 



The Man Militant 289 

This is for you to see 
How, as I come to be 

Shadow and human littlety, 
I gather other sight and power, 

Moon-spaces, rainbow dower, 
And there is evermore more of me, 

Spirit which you may not see, 
My true ripe reality 

For you to follow 
Through pitfall path, sleepy hollow, 

To gather force and Beauty 
By deep endurance, drastic duty — 

There 's your only worth-while booty. 

Will you once think me severe, 

Caring the less for you, dear. 
More thoughtful than heartful? — have not a fear, 

Since we are bound together 
As the iris and its feather, 

While there 's always a way 
In this universe-play 

Of Power and Beauty and Life 
To make sky-bows out of storm and strife — 

One day, hold to it sure, 
I shall have you for higher and truer 

Than the stars are to endure! 



A BACHELOR 

My wife! — There 's the thought I think 
As I front my fire my evening way, 

Watch the embers blossom and sink, 
Dodge the sparks in their battle-play ! 

What would she seem like or be 
Once she were here by the side of me? 

My wife! — how the sweet word sings 
Just as a linnet bubbles his note 

And the empty cloister rings 
Like chime in a silver throat! — 

What may I seem like or be 
To her should she try to think of me? 

Her footfall I thought I could tell 
Each year I waited, as if I heard 

The clapping of a holiday-bell 
One morning breeze had stirred 

As I listened, tried to con, 
And, lo, it was always lost and gone! 

In at the cinders I gaze — 
Once there was power there which took a turn 

At glittering or empty blaze 
Till nought now is left of them to burn, 

Only one constantest glow, 
Which is the last best of them to go. 
290 



A Bachelor 291 

So many evenings went and came, 
The stars outside and my firefly-sparks 

In my chamber grate sparkle just the same, 
All only flocks of dying charks — 

Still one thing the stars point clear: 
She fills my soul, yet is nowhere near. 

So well I can see her now, 
Her way she would sit to look to me 

Under the fine peaceful brow 
As if she were trying to see 

My deepmost thought just to know 
If my love could fail her ever or go. 

Then she would point — "Your book there 
Says man is here just to do his best, 

That life is nothing without a care, 
While to fight your way is blest: 

Tell me what under the sun 
Counts it all after all is done!" 

To which I would say: "Know this thing, 
Man is not noblest to count his gain, 

Since there 's other higher reckoning 
Puts this one truth to him wisdom-plain : 

Better he go conquering 
To do his best just for love of the thing! 

" Never you mind for the end. 
For soul knows how each heart is safe 

By keeping to this high truth for friend, 
Nor need to whimper or chafe: 

Who dares his noblest shall grow 
Soul-shape — what nobler 's to hope or know? 



292 A Bachelor 

" For soul may not die since I see 
Change among worlds, while all the same 

Beauty is there eternally 
By star-balls in blue and yellow flame — 

By so much more is it true 
Of that which makes for Beauty in you. 

" Is what I may see or touch 
My spirit-best? Is the light I prize 

For foremost or mightily much 
Just this strip of sun which kindles eyes, 

Or is it that light which leaps 
From soul in me of bodiless deeps ?" 

Then she woiild draw so near 
I should hold her close — one thought would be 

How more than all the world she was dear, 
Yet herself just and no part of me — 

There 's the lip and bosom-start 
And blue- vein-screen to keep us apart. 

Then she would ask if I thought 
Our souls do make for mightier place 

And circumstance, to crumble not, 
Some growing outside of worlds and space — 

Ask of yourself, I would say, 
Ask the soul in you at its wonder-play ! 

Such evenings would come and go. 
Her talk to me and my talk to her. 

Each ember in turn would glisten to go, 
Only her heart, by a little stir. 

To mind us we were in life. 
One heart for me and my blessing-wife. 



A Bachelor 293 

Never she came to me yet, 
For here is this flesh to hold us apart, 

One stubbornest wall of osselet 
Prisons both soul and heart. 

Each such evening to come and go 
While I learn to love and value her so, 

And you think we 're not to meet, 
This heart of mine and her climbing hand, 

That life is only final defeat 
And there is no fine other loftier land 

But serves a purpose to cheat 
My spirit out of its life complete ! 

Have it so, if that make good ! 
Yet we shall fathom it, you and I, 

Which makes for most, knuckle or mood — 
Who ever saw a spirit die? 

There now in such an undertone 
I think while I nurse my heart alone 

At my fire my evening way, 
To wonder if I shall ever know 

Her rose-face or dimple-play 
Or gentle touch before I must go, 

Or what she would seem like or be 
Once she were here by the side of me. 



IN THE OVERWORLD 

What am I doing 

Not to be wooing 
Now stars are out about such night above, 

Moon-tracks and lavender enough 
To coax me till I love 

Such clinging light, 
Such perfect night? 

Yonder is the moon 

In a barracoon 
Of cloud, like a pretty face is veiled 

Lest I shall see the cheek has paled, 
Yonder dimpled moon 

Which makes high noon 
Of this night of June ! 

Oh, the stars in flocks, 

In pompadour locks , 
To hold me fast till truly I am fastened 

Where worlds are melt, fields are glassened, 
To love their wondrous ways, 

Their olive rays, 
Their endless days ! 

How I hug their light 

Never out of sight 
Save here among us in this pimple earth 

Where darkness has a kind of worth, 
294 



In the Overworld 295 

While so I look to see 
Their look to me, 
Their way they flee. 

What clusters of suns 

Where Hercules runs 
To Kinghood, and no end of him in sight, 

Made his way high by force of might 
As if to point me true 

My way to do 
To rise there too! 

Now for the round blue 

Of high heaven in view, 
For worlds in place like little spots of gold 

To tempt me up to get my hold 
That I may leap my way 

Above their clay. 
Beyond their day. 

As now I may see 

Where my Rosalie 
Keeps to all place, and her thought is wide 

As the stars are and sky beside. 
While so I look for her 

Where the eons stir 
Nor pause nor err. 

Was she not beautiful 

Of soul and dutiful 
To what in the world makes for fine and right, 

Like as her stars in yonder night 
Make for power to last 

By the light they cast 
Into lightless vast? 



296 In the Overworld 

Therefore will I woo 

All the overblue, 
Moons and suns and spaces beyond end, 

To have my love, to keep my friend, 
For was she not more than they 

With their cooling ray 
In their pot of clay? 

Royalty will I woo, 

All the gold and blue, 
Since part they were of her young soul sublime 

Which I shall have to all new time, 
For 'though the sun is set, 

'Though the sky be jet, 
Yet I have her yet. 



A JAPANESE WAR CLAIM 

Mother and son, son and mother, 

Each to each like a single heart, 
Each in this war-world knew not another 

Love-touch nor friendly art 
Where they lived, where they loved together 

In a lap of meadow-patch 
Under their canopy of thatch 

For truce to wind and weather. 

Between them, mother and son, 

Such love was there, so blended, 
We knew it never was begun. 

Never cotdd be ended. 
Each for the other lived to do 

Heartful most that could be done, 
Till all the neighbor-people grew 

To love the mother and her son. 

Jap and Cossack were come to knives — 

Look there now for one Godlike way 
To settle it, take your pay 

In blood, teeth, wealth of lives! 
Each village put up a lick of smoke 

To curl like an ivy about the air, 
Now trip-hammer and anvil broke 

Ploughshare into sword to spare 
297 



298 A Japanese War Claim 

Not a life — there 's the noble way 

Of killing to convince: 
Is there doubt about what he should pay? 

Oh, well, chop him into mince! 
Brother or brother not, 

Small matter so you deem 
Your butcher-knife best to teach him what 

Soul-size is — just a world-power dream! 

Our Mikado must have men ! 

Enough said! There they come, 
Diapason of pipe and drum 

To ring the old lie over again 
How the strongest is he who can kill, 

Gold to the front, bludgeon-skill 
For power to teach the weak 

'T is wisdom to be meek. 

The son is called. What is to do 

But draw his sword, soul and might, 
Whip a neighbor's nostrils blue 

By murder, now he 's ordered to, 
To put his country in the right! 

Pick the logic out of that. 
Pick the little pita-pat 

Of soul, what would starve a gnat! 

But stop ! Here 's for pause 

At one of such cute Battle-laws 
Love makes — how eyes dartle, heart jumps 

If love put nations to their trumps ! 
For when they found there was no other 

Than the son to stay the widow-mother, 
"What matter if it please or ache him. 

By the law's law we may not take him." 



A Japanese War Claim 299 

So handed he his sword to his chief, 

Then away home, 'twixt joy and grief. 
To tell her who waited him there 

How she was a nation's care 
As well as his own. Night was on, 

A red moon in a black cloud shone 
Now he told her he could not go 

To battle since the law was so 

He could not leave her and none 

Save him in her years to lean upon. 
One deep sigh the mother drew, 

Then thus came her words she spoke: 
"My son, 't were better they take us two 

Than we run our neck in the Russian yoke; 
There 's the one way, God's will. 

To settle it — there 's to strike and kill! 

"You shall go — trust me for that! 

Glory comes out of a country's cause! 
Here 's not a time for puling laws, 

Gynecocracy, Caveat! 
There are men to kill, there 's honor to save — 

What matters one more tiny grave? 
Would you stop to think of death? 

Think of this, life is a breath 

"Of nothing more than thin air; 

Now here it is, now there. 
Now I have it, then he 

Who shall come after me, 
While soul is all, is everywhere. 

Loses nothing, is not lost. 
Stops never to count the cost 

Of truth 'though life be tempest-tost. 



300 A Japanese War Claim 

"And truth is we must build power 

To kill the Cossack, to pin his face 
For laughing-stock in our market-place 

'Though life be cut down in morning flower. 
There 's your one way to make Right, 

Kill the Cossack, strike so you kill 
For God's law, by God's will — 

The soul of the world is Might." 

Such made her whole thought indeed ! 

Shall man do noblier than his creed? 
Believing so in her Psalm 

Of Life that Death holds mighty charm 
If put to good as you see it, 

If or no such truly be it. 
Sudden as sudden thought 

Which comes and goes and scarce is caught 

She whipped a dagger out of her belt, 

Then deep into her heart 
As if the blow had not been felt — 

Scarce a breath was left her to part 
With him she loved, now she put the knife 

Fast in his hand, bade him go. 
Now he was free, strike the Cossack so, 

Blow for blow, a life for a life! 



IMPROMPTU 



In a naked broom-rape field 

Free I wandered one full day 

Of sun- wash, blossom-yield, 

To nowhere, to have my way 
To go free, build castles. 

Wear thistle-pink, corn-tassels. 
Body-bound, free of thought, 

So was I master in my lot 
Of touch-me-not. 



Harked I for a cat-bird call, 

Chipmunk-leap 
And chatter in a wall ; 
Little I have which I may keep 

Of what is crest 
If a summer day be not enough 

And the whole high sky be manifest 
Of more and better and best 
Just about me, just above; 

III 

For, thought I, as I wandered, 

Is life to be choked or squandered 
301 



302 Impromptu 

If I hold so much of thought as can clasp 
A universe in my little grasp? 
Am I for fact so small? 
More likely much that I am all, 

While what I see around, 
Star-fields or pretty pebble-ground 
Only in my soul are found! 



More of me there was 

That fine Tuesday than I could tell, 
Lapwing fancy which knits and gnaws 

Beyond my day-in-day-out spell 
Of chipmunk or cockerel. 

Power of heart to clutch 
More than life offers overmuch — 

So was I musing 
To wonder what a game for losing 



Life is — when, just in the breach 

Beyond me, well out of my reach, 
But my way coming, was such a lass, 

Ivy about her neck and arm. 
Cheek like an apple-garden has. 

Sundew crowded into each palm 
She held up as if to commend 

The flower to a wren, beg him descend 
To perch there to be her friend. 



You Ve seen a pink rose swing 
In sun-vine till you thought 



Impromptu 303 

The wild beautiful thing 
Danced and dangled to be caught, 

To be coddled and stroked and kissed 
So not a lip of it should be missed — 

Well, there she was and close, 
All the pink dance of one of those, 

And what else other than such a rose? 



What was for me to do? 

Will you stop to reason what 
Makes wisdom, cook up cold thought 

To cipher at why, why not, 
Now Heaven drops Heaven to you? 

Coming my way was she, 
That near now for me to see 

What soul nested in each eye 
Of sweet Heaven, all the same blue dye, 

VIII 

As if once to let me know 

Beauty was there like sky, the such 
As lay beyond my thought or touch — 

What now? — should I let her go. 
Never to see her more by chance 

In this world of losing circumstance ?- 
Or stop to think? — who may think 

When love is there at a wink, 
While thought is tied in the iron link? 

IX 

Only the one narrow path was there 

From which I stepped to let her pass 



304 Impromptu 

Like a loaded blossom in the grass 

So uncomputed fair, 
When — now every thought put under 

Save love, which never made a blunder, 
Quicker than I could count her charms 

I had her cheeks in these palms, 
Her heart in my arms, 



Those two lips, not meant to miss, 

Protesting, but sure of this 
Wonderful stolen kiss after kiss — 

And then, only after then, 
Now she was put free again. 

Could I see each pale cheek 
Mantle red like an evening cloud 

The sun has touched and left, try to speak 
Their language, so silent-loud ! 



I thought of what I gained or missed: 

One girl more had been loved and kissed 

Whether she would or no; 

Was I more man for it, a bee-bob more 
Than ever before. 

Now she turned and I could see 

Her pity-like look to me 

As if to say: "You are small, 
You see skin-deep, that is all, 

XII 

"Most as any fly might Hght 
On the bosom of a brook 



Impromptu 305 

For just his one tiny bite 

Of dew, never a look 
Into the mirror in his brook 

Where giant skies and moon-worlds nook. — 
Keep to it, have your way 

Of potter to putter in the clay 
Your little day, 

XIII 

"But know, my friend, Beauty is what 

Beauty makes it to a dot ; 
Put touch to a rose to jar 

A leaf of it, you leave your scar; 
Who save the fool would claw 

The heart out of what he hungers for? 
Keep to crocodile or bat 

If such be the thing you level at ! 
I thought the God in you more than that." 



DEVERSORIUM VIATORIS HIEROSOLYMAM PRO- 
FICISCENTIS ' 

Here I lay me to-night — 
See, how dark the hour is, 
This tomb, where not a flower is 
Nor rood in sight 
To point a path'out, so long the way is 
To where I look and only day is, 

And I must say good-night. 

Here will I fall asleep 
To put my burden down 
Which prompted no pout nor frown 
That I would keep, 
Since one night only hails me at an inn 
I 'm glad of to find such shelter in. 
Now I must look to sleep. 

I put my trinkets here, 
The what I did or knew 
For best, what I thought good to do 
By gloom, by cheer. 
For knowing I will need them one new day 
Of a finer light, of a wider way, 
And so I put them here. 

' The inn of a traveller on his way to Jerusalem. — From an English 
Tomb. 

306 



Deversorium Viatoris 307 

Soul comes and goes, my friend; 
You see it last and first ; 
Not a God's newt can be curst 
And there an end 
Of endless Power, and the no-ending whole 
Put plainest deep in your very soul 
Not to misapprehend. 

This hand will wither so 
As you see in your sun 
Now its worst first work is done 
And best, although 
Think you I shall get me no finer hand 
Than this which is baked of sun and sand 
Now that I sleep to grow? 

Slowly, then, bell and bell, 
Seeing I seek release 
From foment to make my ease; 
One evening knell 
Before I nod, now death hath struck the hour 
That I am to grasp for more of Power 
Which doeth all things well. 

There, so, make low the light 
To gather me to bed, 
Now all has been done and said 
Of wrong or right 
Which was my best — I 'm sure it was my best — 
So leave me here for a little rest, 

Since I must say good-night. 



HER DUKE 

Such a sky-boon was this day 
In the last of May, 
Cinderella birds just about 
At their cymbal-shout, 
Little sunburnt flowers at their feat 
To be like you, skyful and sweet — 
Bob-lights played in the leaves 
Which kicked the sun off like copper greaves- 
Leveret and pianet 
I could not forget — 
Such a noble day it was 
For a noble cause! 

You had your two sides to you 

Like the rest of us ; 

One was weak, the other grew 

So the best of us 

Could not in one life struggle to 

One half the spirit size of you. 

Remember how you would tell me all 

You did or thought, mighty or small. 

How you thought your way was best, 

Yet would look to me 



Her Duke 309 

To put you to the test? 
Let us look to see : 

You were fine as a'leaf of spring, 

As the April ring 

Of little pellets of rain 

At your window-pane ; 

You were beautiful, such kind of grace 

Summer puts in evening skies; 

Sun-pink played in your face. 

Soul was ripe in your eyes 

With their pond-look of iris dyes — 

That day, that perfect day, 

Came my turn to say 

You were beautiful as none 

All under the sun ! 

Now he was your pewter Duke, 

Had his helmet-look. 

This man was you thought of so 

For his nickel glow. 

His chin-shine and family stock. 

His new gold harness, feathers for puff, 

Just the plain man in him not enough 

To hold you under key and lock. 

And so he dangled for show. 

Played the glow-worm so 

You should unspirit and crawl 

To his pomp and call. 

I only loved you the way. 
That fine day of May, 
Rocket flowers reach for their sun 
Since the world begun ; 



3IO Her Duke 

Loved you, yet took not one thought 
How you were to be snared and got, 
Made my way to you as the wren 
Makes his way to his sky again, 
And nothing to ask of you 
But you love me too 
For my sake, not for my troops 
Of buttons and loops. 

But he was your Duke I saw 
You were aiming for; 
Kept his kick and bubble-front 
To which he was wont ; 
Took you by storm by his way 
Of trick-master for tall display. 
The while you so overlooked me 
I forgot I was meant to be ! 
You liked his helmet and sword, 
Drank each look and word — 
I saw you flutter to quob 
Like a muffled squab. 

But how much love did you have 

For his star or staff, 

Or how much heart could you show 

For his lemon bow? 

Never you housed a knuckle of care 

Save for the pomp-look which was there 

In his crocodile eyes, peacock blue. 

To handicap the heart in you! 

Now that you had him to hold 

By his hand of gold, 

What could it matter the dot 

If you loved him or not? 



Her Duke 311 

Next came, as I said, one day 

In the month of May, 

Full of quince blossom and stock 

For you to unlock — 

You were up about fields to see 

What in the world was come to me 

Who had not seen you for many days, 

Had left you to your Duke and his praise, 

Which seemed to be all enough 

Without my love. 

While so I thought I must do 

My best without you. 

When — that clean May morning we stood 

By your crab-apple wood 

You wore one look I could read, 

Had a heart in need, 

Yet you would not own to it, but told 

Of your Duke and his gold. 

Of his place in the world for power 

To make men snivel and cower — 

Your Duke and his power and all, 

While I was too small 

To fill the dream in your thought, 

Cast in with your lot. 

So I could see you thought his power, 

His spliirge of an hour. 

Were more than all I could be 

By the soul in me; 

More than my kingdom of heart 

Were the tricks of his art, 

Quite as all light-winded mothing 

Makes much out of nothing — 



312 Her Duke 

So I was to drop behind 
In your soul and mind, 
Follow on at the fag end, 
Play brotherly friend ! 

How comes it men think of this 

For the best there is : 

Power and wealth and brain and art, 

So little of heart. 

As if the world held more, as a whole, 

Than this sun-above masterful soul, 

Or could give a man half what he wants 

In these pigeon-hole haunts. 

While so, as life leaps agog. 

Play groundling and hog. 

Drink of mere smother of smut, 

Make much of a gut? 

Well — that clean morning of May, 

As I tried to say, 

Both of us thought as we stood 

By your crab-apple wood — 

I only thought of my honest love 

For you, that for me was enough, 

While you made effort to soar above 

Heart and soul and the reign of love 

When I turned, as this much I said: 

"Since your love is dead, 
There 's only my sigh to tell 
My hardest word of all — Farewell! 
So I leave you to your Duke 
With his helmet-look! 



Her Duke 313 

I take to my way of life, 

Nor thought of a wife, 

Only your image I have to keep 

"Till I come to where I mean to sleep — 

What if things are not what they seem, 

Then is this life only a dream 

And I sleep, always I sleep, 

By which way I keep 

To what things only seem, 

And always I dream!" 

But what was told in your eyes 

By their strong surprise? 

How now did you try to speak 

And the lip was weak ! 

Your two cheeks were knitted to quilt 

White spots, as if blood had been spilt — 

I saw the knife was up to the hilt ! 

I did not seem to you then so small 

Once you could see how the heart is all, 

My heart which you took, 

And never one thought nor look 

To your stupid Duke! 

Pleasant days, dear, after all, 

As I now recall, 

Days for learning what is best, 

Souls put to the test 

To see, by all which has gone before, 

Soul is meant to be vastways more 

To such Beauty and no end 

As you nor I may try to portend, 



314 Her Duke 

And so I like to recall, 
In the midst of it all, 
Those pleasant days as I look 
Back to you and your Duke! 



HALO SKIMP 



Let us have a look at Skimp 
From a point of view 
Of his halt, of his limp, 
Of his bugaboo, 
His three faces: Priest-apostle look, 

Warmth enough in it just to cook 
Authority of the pot-hook look ; 

His pew-face, long and narrow, 
About the broadhead of a sparrow, 

Save what he lacks in chin 
Is made up to him in bull-wolf mouth 

To take a whole harvest in, 
Yield you a season of drouth; 

His every-day face of fashion 
Full of the Skimp family passion 

To narrow things to so and so — 
Above and beyond you must not go 

Or God might envy you what you know — 
Glue-ball, the people would say, 

To watch him strut across the way 
So rapt in such ego-swim 

Men thought the stars might stick to him — 
There at a gnat-hole he would pick 

To fetch truth a left-handed lick 
Under such wide sombrero-brim 

I As kept the sky- width away from him. 
315 



3i6 Halo Skimp 

Most anything he managed to do 

To smallen him, to smallen you 
To his one narrow nose-end view. 



Truth is written in a book, 

You must take the thing for such, 

Not a wink at it to look 

If an ephod argue much. 

Or a priest and his bugbear-touch — 

Truth is all a little thing 

Measured by a little skull, 

Man is meant to beg and cling, 

Keep his wits about him dull. 

Meant for priests to kick and gull — 

God is in his lightning-sky. 

Thunderbolts to smash a race, 

You for pin- worm, he for high, 

For spider in his hiding-place 

To bite men out of time and space — 

God is mighty to be pleased, 

Has a way of sucking blood, 

Perfect Power must be appeased 

By tears of human widowhood. 

There 's the top notch of all good — 

Truth is all a little thing, 

Here the preface, here the end 

Of any other reasoning 

Than man is meant to quob and bend 

To Power so to not offend — 

Nothing lies beyond to know, 

I must fetch my altar-bow, 

Take their way to come and go, 

And Skimp shall show me how ! 



Halo Skimp 3^7 

III 

Halo Skimp ! — think the while how 

Halo for glory rounded his brow ! 
You would be looking for lustre 

Of an infinite star-cluster 
'Round such dog- thought— no blunder 

Is this whimpering to crouch under — 
No blunder is this pig-ankle plan 

That nothing comes of being man, 
Since Skimp has another trick up sleeve: 

You must knock under, must believe 
Just the thing Skimp has up sleeve 

To get your footing without a limp, 
Get the whole benefit of Skimp. 

Could you doubt of his length of view, 
His power to see what is truly true 

Now he looks back a thousand years 
To get his croppie full of fears? 

There now came his hook-hawk eye 
Seeing straight- wise what he saw. 

His Heaven for him to be gulping for 
With the mouth-parts of a dragon-fly. 

Skimp knew — man is to be so much, 
More than this is out of clutch 

And Skimp could show you the outer touch. 
Once I heard him lesson a boy 

How the Devil is forward, how God is coy, 
While first above all things first 

He shall practise hunger and thirst, 
Cultivate general deprivation, 

Since God is open to negotiation. 
His high Heaven to be bought 

By flatulence and pauper-thought. 



3i8 Halo Skimp 



Skimp — now, Skimp, I heard you pray 

Like a Ute Indian one day 
For good and greatness to come your way — 

Did there not once come to you 
How goodness and greatness are what you do, 

How you are not to be stuffed, hog-bellied, 
Each desire to be sugar jellied, 

But just your fist first to strike to do 
So God might get somewhat out of you? 

But, Skimp — I heard you shouting praise 
That day, heard your windy ways 

At pipery, your noisy phase — 
Then I looked for the other part, 

Love in it — there went no heart 
In your mouth-practice or keyboard art. 

Nobler than worship love is and finer. 
More human and vastly diviner. 

Beside, here 's an odd thing, Skimp: 
I 'm no kind of mocking imp 

To take your shape, follow your gong, 
Dip and mumble with the throng, 

For there 's the unique God in me 
I 'm to come to, grow to be, 

Never breath of subserviency. 
None of your altar-tricks, not a nod 

To put me leaning upon God, 
For how may I lean and stand straight, 

Part ways small, part ways great? — 
I for one masterpiece of thought 

That what I do shall be noblest wrought 
Of the best of me, of the most of me, 

Of the wholly holy ghost of me 



Halo Skimp 319 

For virtue, kindliness, endurance-power 

To stand man-foremost up to the hour 
That strikes for me — noblest behavior, 

Man his own God and only Savior 
By being the God-most man, 

All the best of him he can 
For love of it to stand manful-straight 

For greatness in him to stay great 
As a God could stay in one narrow sphere, 

Never an atomful of fear 
For homage — just human love 

Is complete worship and homage enough, 
Never a thumb-twitch or nod, 

Each man one giantest gentlest God. 
In the afterward or here 

What has the man to fear, 
Be the heart of him true and kind, 

He his best to be striving at 
In spite of his world he leaves behind? — 

What may a God do more than that? 



OLD DARBY 

How well I remember this man, 

His Pawtucket Street stride, 

Hand open wide 

As a griddle-pan ! 

At first I shied him, 

The boy-tribe guyed him. 

Women folk eyed him, 

Eyed his blue great eyes, 

His boot-black tie. 

His long look to the skies 

Like a longing to fly, 

Hat on and off. 

His little cough. 

His sorrow-sigh ! 

None feared him, none knew him who he was. 
Only Old Darby was his name. 

His purpose to make common cause 

With hard-luck people — that way he came 

To be known for his majesty part 

He played, his mighty human heart. 

Snug in his Chelmsford woods, 
In his bee-flower house, 
His hut of willow snoods. 
Of wild forest goods, 
320 



Old Darby 321 

To an owl for a friend 
His hand to extend, 
Swallows of nard 
In his forest yard, 
A whole heart to share 
His handful-fare 
With the birds in air, 
He now, like each flower 
In his dusty-miller bower, 
Was a prince of power. 

Once I went to watch him in his den 

He built to be away from men: 
It was one evening, April-colored, 

All sky grew droopy to half dullard 
To see him at his berries and crust 

Doing his best at it to adjust 
Sotil and body so he could stay 

To stay others yet another day. 
I could hear his heart thump thought 

For what he knew of the sorrow-lot 
Of men he knew never, scarce heard of, 

While as to himself never a word of 
Nor thought of him to find any fault, 

No whimpering at the world's assault 
And he part of the gold-eyed vault 

Of Heaven. Meal over, I saw him go 
Sudden rapid-wise to and fro 

Before his hut like he were thinking 
And aching, too, clean through him 

— Never any flinching nor shrinking — 
One would think somewhat was due him 

More than this world could give — there he drew 
One locket from his breast, kissed it through. 



322 Old Darby 

Held it to his lips, held his two eyes 
So fastened on the zenith skies 

As an eagle looks before he flies, 
I would not have wondered to see him rise. 

Old Darby — yet not old, 
Fifty, may be, and yet 
His face had many a fold, 
There were the chink and fret 
And no power to forget 
What had grooved them so. 
Each heavy chisel-blow. 
He bent by such weight 
Of his loaded fate 
He looked and men thought, 
Whether he was or not, 
He must be heavy fraught 
With years, and so 'twas told 
He was passing old. 

Prime abject wonder was it to see 

His love he kept for the locket-face 
He carried in such captivity 

None ever knew how his soul was a place 
For just the one sweet woman- face 

He would kiss so, looking to the skies, 
Looking straight into endless deeps 

To see how Beauty never dies 
Where each world noddles and blinks and sleeps, 

As if for certain surpassing fair 
He must find her another day out there ! 

Now I must tell you this. 
To make the matter plain 



Old Darby 323 

About the girl and kiss, 
About the locket-chain, 
Which mystery was his 
He kept so most men thought 
He must be mad or wild — 
Whether pleased or not, 
He neither scowled nor smiled, 
Kept his calm same way 
From moon to moon — at last 
This truth leaked out one day 
To put the world aghast : 

Darby and Duke were two brothers called — 

Duke, the older and world of a boy. 
By birth came somehow pinched and smalled 

In soul, compounded cheap alloy. 
Was his father's image and toy. 

His pet luckling straightway from birth. 
His son and heir and struggle-worth 

To take both family fortune and name, 
Natured to take whatever came 

His way, so wholly the father like, 
Gulp and gullet of a pike 

For himself just and no other, 
He the one headlong grasping brother. 

Darby was of the other mould. 
Never was in him greed of gold 

Nor any greed; always he chewed 
Thought to see what mortal good 

In the world he could be to do 
Anything for me or you, 

Any goodness he could do. 
So little to himself it mattered 

If fortune flooded or only spattered. 



324 Old Darby 

Had he taken to the dollar-plan 

Of more dollars to make more man, 
The father had counted him worthy 

To be his son, rich and earthy. 
But no, he was higher spirit-mood. 

Not thinking of himself for gain, 
But only to do what best he could, 

While so his way in the world was plain: 

To be kind and true 
As a day is long. 
All a will to do. 
All a foe to wrong. 
Love of truth and power 
To be free and great 
As an arum-flower 
In the perfect state, 
As an April shower 
With its diamond trait, 
Not to mind of death 
Or the way you drop, 
Never soul nor breath 
Taking flight to stop 
On the wing to do — 
There 's the God in you ! 

In youth the two brothers at one time 

Fell to loving the one girl 
Of an eye of supra-mortal pearl, 

Voice of such holiday chime, 
One pure girl of such sun-wide hope 

Shadows died in her horoscope, 
Thought-happy, and so much was of her 

There was only to wholly love her. 



Old Darby 325 

As Darby did, likewise did Duke; 

Each one his proper Monday took 
To himself, so each one never knew 

The other brother loved her too, 
Till one day it happened, who knows how, 

Each pledged her his solemn love and vow, 
While there her eyes were opened to choose, 

One brother to take, the other to lose! 

Said Darby to Duke: 
You see how it is. 
Now you stop to look ! 
I was born to miss 
My portion in life, 
I was put to the strife, 
I was sent to the front 
To take butt and brunt, 
And the way is long — 
My luck I am strong 
Just to step aside — 
You take her for bride, 
I leave her to you, 
There 's my best I can do ! 

Duke took her, you be sure of that, 

Took his father's fortune, all there was 
Was left him to gnaw and grovel at. 

Nor took he another human cause 
Than just himself to be living for 

For what he could get, for all there was. 
Never the thought of any other, 

Nor heed of the stript and generous brother, 
As on he went to get this world's most. 

Nor counted it what the other lost. 



326 Old Darby 

Darby, per contra, took nobler view 

Of what is fine in the soul to do 
So he should get the finest he was, 

Get above skunk and cat-lick laws 
To nobler and highmost man, 

Over and above any worldsome plan, 
So gave the girl to his brother Duke, 

Thought nothing of it only to do 
His kindest and noblest way he knew. 

The one way ever he saw and took. 
That way Duke came to get his prize 

Of gold and such immortal eyes 
And soul of a girl as never I saw 

So worth a man's living and dying for. 
Duke took her, left Darby to go 

His way, his land-long way alone, 
Nor gave him one thought now he was gone, 

The sting in him like an arrow 
Levelled in the heart and marrow 

He carried there, nor knew ever how 
She half way loved him, thought of him so 

Now she saw him turn to go 
To leave her to his brother Duke, 

Saw the kind face, longing look 
He gave her that day he went, 

As light drops out of a firmament. 

One hard way to go, 
One hard thing to do, 
Never a way to know 
Of the cost to you 
And you carry through 
What you mean to do 
For the good in you, 



Old Darby 327 

For the good in view, 
Nor a gain to gain 
Nor a hope to hope 
But the plain way plain 
For such noble scope 
As is strong and true — 
There 's the God in you ! 

How things went with Duke let us see: 

Just the same Duke he was, never so 
Men saw in him any human glow 

Or little spot of divinity, 
But Duke just, wholly hog-eyed Duke, 

The inward, never the outward look 
About him in the world for others. 

His many heavy-hearted brothers 
To give a hand to if he could 

Be of some little human good. 
His noble pearl-girl too, she could see 

Now so plain how her man-mate was 
All self -sided as savagery, 

Saw him for mostly brawn, or jaws 
To swallow, to give nothing out, 

So she grew to nursing her doubt 
Of her love of him — Darby was now 

In her thought with his heartfullest vow; 
She could see him, 'though she never knew 

Which way in all the world he flew 
When he left her to his brother to take — 

What love will do for its own fine sake ! 
Fairly at last she grew to love him. 

The whole world held nought above him, 
Poor Darby, and he gone forever 

— She knew time takes back step never — 



328 Old Darby 

Whatever came of him none ever knew, 

What lot fell to him none ever cared; 
He may have flown where the eagles flew 

To tie to their scaur, fare as they fared, 
While who in the green world sniffed or cared 

Save her who knew his widest heart, 
Monument greatness, his majesty part 

He played, while men went thinking him odd, 
And he a whole Prince and part of God! 

What have you to fear 
In the God-wide world 
If love drop a tear 
So the cheek be pearled — 
If the dark spread wing 
In that heart of thine 
So the night-larks sing, 
So the planets shine — 
If the way be rough 
In your meadow-spread. 
So you live by love 
Of the heights ahead 
For the good in view, 
For the God in you? 

So it was in Chelmsford I found him. 

At the fag-end, in his squirrel-hut ! 
How each tempest tried to unground him! 

I saw his wide eyes open and shut 
As if the soul in him watched each gape 

To leap there for chance to escape. 
Much was to think of him, nothing to know 

As he would sit in the evening glow, 
Each bird about him leaping to share 



Old Darby 329 

His lap, a crumb of his evening fare 
In the sweet kind quiet there was there. 

Each day he took to this way or that way, 
Now to watch a yellow chat play 

Pasans to him— I thought that morning 
The very soul of song was dawning — 

Then to his task in Pawtucket Street, 
To do and to do, and a world in need 

Of each man, to his head and feet— 
I could see him at a garden weed 

To help a melon grow, take his turn 
To watch a bee in a clover churn. 

To show a child the God of him 
Leaped in every breath and limb 

To soar above the sod of him, 
Spoke kindness always and great truth : 

"Only soul has perpetual youth; 
The child is likelier God 

Than your small soul in your lordly pod," 
And so on, as each way he went 

He preached of power by strugglement; 
Beauty was the thing to catch. 

New always, not made to match ; 
Soul-foremost was the way to go. 

Would the world could see it so, 
And so on. 

Such a true high man 
I watched him his way 
The organ-birds play 
Where his flower-fields ran, 
And he there to do 
What is lasting true. 
What is kindly great 



330 Old Darby 

As all sky holds blue 
Over dark and hate, 
Just to do his most 
In the world he could, 
Nor a thing to boast 
Only trueman mood, 
Only human good! 



Duke died. Never he rose above 

His self-highway of self-love. 
So little truly there was of him 

The wife came lastly to unlove him. — 
Death took him — oft I wonder if 

Men die for not soul enough to live — 
She now alone in the world to think 

How life is barely the puff and wink, 
Yet long enough to so certainly do 

All which may lie in the soul in you 
To get greatness and the grandeur- view. 

Darby she loved, always she knew 
She loved him, yet away he was gone 

And none could tell in the world whereto. 
Yet to think of him wholly alone 

And none to smooth out his brow betimes. 
Drop bell- words to him for evening chimes, 

Was more than all her heart could endure — 
She must follow to see, to be sure 

If he were anywhere above ground — 
Had he not been most faithful found 

His hard long way in the world he went? 
This she knew by the goodness he meant, 

There he gave her up, never a quaver, 
So the lesser brother should have her. 



Old Darby 331 

So this then should be her forward-strife, 
Her masterstroke and work of her life, 

To find him — God onl}'- knows how 
Years went by and she kept her vow. 

Tired heart and brain, 
Take a thought of this, 
June will come again. 
Life one purpose is 
And the meaning plain, 
You to strike to do 
For the June- Domain 
Of the God in you, 
Power to go your way, 
Power to be your best, 
Give the thought free play, 
Put you to the test 
To be bold and true — 
There 's the God in you ! 

On she wandered her way up and down 

Of every highway of every town. 
Found the nozzle of each by-way, 

Found the V-fork in each Y-way, 
Took to meadow-stretch, to low beaches 

Where the pursuing ocean reaches 
As if ever putting out a hand 

To cling to the lofty lover-land. 
High-hearted grew she, never ruing, 

Losing each day, each day pursuing. 
While what of her loss was worth the thought? — 

Should she not do her mightiest 
To put her to the touch and test 

Whether she won at it or not? 



332 Old Darby 

Say, friend, which were better you do, 

'Complish the end you have in view 
Or end by 'complishing soul in you? 

Comes always a day 

Just after a night ! 

See the star-points play 

Their fountains of light 

In back of each cloud 

So you may not see 

How they prick the shroud 

Of eternity ! 

There 's a way to be, 

There 's a thing to do 

All by you or me 

And no prize in view 

But the fine high man 

To be all he can. 

One morning came of such bright new sun 

Men thought the day must be overrun 
By a rush of blush against the sky. 

As if the cheek wore a pretty dye 
Of scarlet in lapis lazuli. 

Darby was up among all his birds 
To catch their bell- whistle, watch their cape 

Of lemon on the head and nape. 
To learn their song of unworldly words 

Nor let a leaf of it escape. 
Backward and forward his way he went, 

Each ear cocked out, each eye intent 
To see what all God-like nature meant 

By putting so much more before man 
Than he may think of to try to span. 



Old Darby 333 

Unless, i' faith, to point him always before 
To what he may come to — better and more. 

Right now as he was thinking that way, 
He took to kissing the locket-face, 

Looking to skyward much as to say: 
"In yonder worlds there 's abounding place, 

And I shall have you another day," 
When — such a voice out of his trees 

Caught his soul up, brought whip-poor-will 
And tree-finch to sudden still, 

Such sweet note in it as a breeze 
Of August plays in a mellow plant, 

Lilted to trill like a pretty chant 
To take him between throb and pant 

So mightily he scarce could control 
Neck enough to turn him to see 

Who spoke so like a singing soul, 
What the meaning of it could be. 



Love comes and who knows 

How it came to-day 

Like a jasper rose 

In the winds of May, 

So you never know 

How it found you so, 

Or you never guess 

It was meant for you 

By the world you bless 

With the love you do. 

And it comes your way 

Like the rose will send 

Its blossom-spray 

To the warm wind-friend. 



334 Old Darby 

Could it be she had found him at last? 

For there she stood in his cone-tree yard, 
The life of each of them mostly past, 

Each way which they took so long, so hard, 
Yet now the sweet wild voice was at hand. 

Was now at his ears like the April sun 
Touches the top of a wintered land, 

And the rich round purpose of love was done, 
For there they were fast in the arms of each, 

Lips tied to lips to play their part 
Of open door to spirit and heart — 

Love was now in sight and reach 
All in spite of such ugly past. 

For they were one in the world at last. 

Something in Nature makes for Right, 
Keeps always perfect Beauty in sight, 
So help it along all your soul and might ! 



LOVE 

Such a sprite is love, 

Takes to lips at first; 
Mouth is good enough, 

Meant for quenching thirst- 
Little later on 

He will mount to cheek 
For a chance to speak 

After thirst is gone — 
Next I see him rise 

Where two lilac eyes 
Hold him off apart 

And he sees the heart — 
There he stays for good 

In his better mood! 
Little later on 

Years and years are gone, 
Nothing more is there 

Where he nested first 
With his crop of thirst; 

Mouth and cheek are bare 
Of phloxen glare, 

Passion-stare, 
Eyes to drop a look 

Like a fingered book 
With the covers worn, 

Pages torn, 
335 



336 Love 



As at last he reads 

What all spirit needs: 
Over brow and brink 

I see soul, I think, 
Past the passing wink ! 



LITTLE SILVER 

By the lake's light 

Out of my leghorn wood 
Of moon-brushes where the kite 

Stroked his feathers, wooed, 
Played his weather-note, 

We were girl and boy 
In the days I quote, 

Each heart aimed at joy 
That filled the throat- 
Children we at our games 
In our popple- wood, 

Called the flowers their names, 
Called the cow-fields good, 

Tumbled in any grass 
Which was high and green 

To let the kildee pass 
And we not to be seen. 

So he should drop to light 
Close in touch and sight 

To lift his tune 
Such a summer night. 

Such a day of June. 

You know the children's ways, 

Any thought to do 
As the wine-br.sh plays 

At a bath of dew 

337 



338 Little Silver 

To drink in sun 

From a morning hour 

Till new colors run 

And their bush is a flower ! 



Little silver hands he had, 

My first childhood's lad; 
Little silver locks, and too. 

Eyes half silver, half blue 
To look me through. 

Made his way to me 
By his look of trust, 

By the deity 
In such smallness just; 

Would come to me to know 
If bell-flowers grew 

In the archipelago 
Of sky-islands too ! 

Came such singing thought 
Out of his tiny heart 

My song-sparrow was caught 
Trying to learn the part. 

Once he asked to know 

If the sky I see 
Was a way to go, 

Or a thing to be! 
A thing to be, I said. 

Never a way to go, 
For there are your blue and red 

In apple-green glow; 
There is your height for you 

To be climbing to; 



Little Silver 339 

Breadth too, and depth to grow 

To no end of it so ; 
There is power which grows 

By the power it shows ; 

Beauty, too, which stays 

Beyond change of days — 
All this for you to be, 

Height, power, quiddity 
To no end, you to be it. 

Not to gulp nor flee it, 
Be all of all that is, 

Star-points, mighty precipice 
Up the sky, down the sky. 

All that is fine and high. 

In our grape-field one day 

Fairly I heard him say : 
See how this purple plum 

Is deaf and dumb, 
Yet has sweet life, has plump, 

Knows a way too to pump 
Juice up out of earth 

To get the jelly-worth, 
Yet will it pause to die. 

Drop its hazel eye, 
Drop its belle-monte dye. 

Ah, said I now. 

There 's the same new sweet 
In this evening sleet ; 

There 's the over-brown brow 
In my evening cloud now ; 

There 's the purple cheek 



340 Little Silver 



Tries to look and speak 

From yonder sky-ended peak — 
The blue brow and fine strip 

Of vermilion lip, 
All that was ever given 

To your plum, lies there in heaven. 

So I think of him, 

Of his lofty whim, 
Of his gurgling chaff, 

Little silver laugh, 
For so I lost him there 

When his step was true, 
When his heart was new, 

When his soul was fair. 



He was meant for me. 

As I could know and see 
By our way we leaped in tune 

That plump afternoon, 
By our thought together 

As moon and weather, 
By our fly-kite way 

We took to play 
At the round orange sky 

To catch its morning eye. 
Evening dye. 

On another day, 
By another way, 

In another clay 
I know he shall be found 

Somewhere in the all around, 
The best of him, above ground. 



Little Silver 341 

But now I think of him, 

Little silver eye and limb, 
To count for what is fair 

Beyond me, beyond compare 
In the super-lunar air. 

Yonder, I think, so far 
Above life, above here. 

Outside of hope or fear, 
All out of this shock of jar 

Hangs my Little Silver Star! 



TWINS 

Two twin sisters were these two girls 

I tell you about, 
So alike in chin-play and pout 

And cheek-side and curls 
One could not tell them apart, 

Not if he looked forever in their heart. 

Each took the one way of truing 

Her side-hair to make it obey, 
Each took the other's way of doing 

What waited to be done each day — 
Let us see what came to pass 

One morning in their one looking-glass! 

In peace they lived to this day now 

I tell you about, 
Tripped and sang happily in and out 

As girls know how, 
So you would not find a day 

When they were not one in their bubbleplay. 

For one was the other so you could see 

Not a difference by half a hair, 
Each as the other grew for fair. 

So grew no cause for jealousy, 
Both alike so in trim and mood 

One could not envy the other if she would. 
342 



Twins 343 

Came now the lover, one true knight 

Of the village best, 
To make his whole heart manifest 

Of a Christmas night — 
Mark you now he never knew 

They were twins, so like each other too! 

This night it chanced he never saw 

His love he hoped and hungered for, 

For there her twin sister came 

Seeming like her so just the same 

He could not know he should err. 

So poured his whole heartful out to her! 

Next day came each sister to know 

She was quite as much 
As the other was to see and touch. 

At least as men go, 
Since one would answer as well 

As the other, far as men could tell. 

So now this plan came fixed upon: 

Each one a different shape should take 

By bodice, make up a different make, 
By shirt-waist one, each one to don 

A new other kind of hat 

And spit-curl and cute cravat 

To difference between the two. 

So a man could say 
Which one of the two he saw that day, 

If white cap or blue — 
So that way it came to pass 

One morning both stared in one looking-glass 



344 Twins 

To take an infinite bother, 

Each to look different from the other, 
When — lo, one caught the wish to look better, 

To make her winsomer, rosetter. 
While right there then their trouble began 

Now each got in harness to catch a man. 

Both jealousy and envy grew. 

As surely you know 
How positively it must b6 so 

And the end in view 
Be the one man to be got 

At all hazard and whether or not. 

One put a brighter spot to the cheek, 

Touched up each dimple to make it speak, 

While the other stood primping alias 
So not to let one pin-shot pass 

Which could put a man under fetter — 
Anything to look other and better 

Till each thought the other one grew 

Handsomer by far. 
Both with no chance to be at par 

Nor yet to outdo, 
When sudden it chanced, alas. 

They put the whole blame on the looking-glass! 

Sooner than one could see. 

Four small fists struck the mirror so 

To rain such vengeance, blow on blow. 
By such compunctioned enmity. 

There went quick moments none could tell 
Where under skies the mirror fell. 



Twins 345 

Next was set up between them this 

For cornerstone: 
Each should see her young knight alone, 

As custom is, 
By which way each one should think 

To play her best game of dimple and wink. 

Once he came again, once he saw 

How two sisters contended for, 
Not him so much, as in each case 

Each for the handsomer shape and face, 
Each to tell him, as each did, 

The other stood cold as a pyramid, 

Lacked Beauty, lacked noble blend 

Of elbow and joist. 
Was dozzled, was too pipingly voiced 

To be perfect friend — 
Once he saw their way they talked, 

How neither purposed to be balked, 

Each by her pretty fling and pout 

Bound to crowd the other out, 
There he rounded him up to know 

They were still twins, like each other so 
In snap and bite and sulky smother, 

He would not one girl or the other! 



HELL 

All well done, 

Napoleon? 
Scarcely that! Not so well done! 

War 's severe, 

Souls are dear. 
There 's no wisdom in a gun. 
Better things not so well done, 
Not so much of Napoleon! 

I 

Drum-ticks and gun-puffs to your war, 
And you proud of it 

Who scarce know what you are fighting for!- 
You love the loud of it, 
Boom-bombast of bassoon, 
Trumpet march in rigadoon, 
High pipery of shalms 
To your blazonry of anns, 
Bold piletus in the air 
To stab, what matters where, 

So you kill your brave brothers there ! 

II 

Fire-balls to the fore! 
They 've a pretty light 
To keep the killing-trick in sight 
For another age or more — 
346 



Hell 

Blood-letting to let you know 

Truth triumphs by an overflow 

Of guts in an open field, 

Your geniusing to teach men to yield 

To just your view of right, 

So out with a claw to strike on sight 

As pumas do — hate and fight! 

Ill 

Your fingers in his throat 

For love of God, 

Streak his blood up the citron sod 

So you may glutton and bloat ! 

Or was it a new dispute 

Brought you to knuckles of lead, 

Made you scorpion, ugly brute, 

And your brothers there in thousands dead? 

Dog- work, and what of it 

Save somewhat you lost or covet? — 

Lives a man who loves to love it? 



Whatever you may not love 

I hold for wrong in the run of men, 

'Though you capture not freedom enough, 

'Though the hope you have come never again ; 

For what may a man do more 

Than man him by mightiness of soul. 

Whether his gain be a puny score 

Or he crush the world and he get the whole? 

One way only is to do 

To get the best and most of you ; 

Follow love — love is kind and true. 



347 



348 Hell 



Gun- tread and banner drop, 

Give me your halt and hush of arms, 

Let the college of kindness prop 

Your purpose, lift you your palms 

To brotherward, which is to skyward, 

Lest you be mouth-mock and just byword 

Among the nations to come 

By your cutthroat-dance to pipe and drum 

To settle each high dispute 

By genius to throttle and loot 

Like dragons, play stink-pot brute! 



VI 



Hark to the click of drums, 
Look to your stripes on high, 
Hark how the trombone hums 
Fair music and men roll by 
By columns of bosom-chums 
For never quiver nor sigh 
Where cannon on cannon comes 
Nor a soul cotdd answer you why, 
Only their triunpet and drums 
Marshal them forward to die 
And be scattered as crumbs! 

VII 

Epaulets bright as a sun, 
Shoulder to shoiilder to flash 
Like a breath of your Vulcan-gun, 
Like swords in your sash — 



Hell 349 

Oriflamb flaunted in air 

As an eagle flaps his wings 

Before he pounces to tear 

The soul out of things — 

For wrong, for right, what matter which? 

Strike up the drums to pitch-fork jjitch 

To toss your mates to an ugly ditch ! 



To pipes and cymbals of war, 

Close man's heart for an open door! 

Sweep their land by storms of fire 

To gorge your hungry chop-desire 

To govern men and things 

By fear, by slings and stings, 

Nor counts it once how conscience rings! 

To pipes and the drums of war. 

All hazard for an open door, 

All hell to him in his track 

Who lets his Heavenliness hold him back! 

IX 

Parade to the shoulder of arms ! 

A truce to your cycle of calms! 

Rouse up the lungs now he comes, 

Diapason of bugles and drums 

To a conqueror-chief — have a care 

For the true pale maiden lying there 

Without a breath at your feet — 

How she was fair as her soul was sweet, 

Her soldier's mate, and so soulful-true 

The shot that struck him struck her too — 

Just so much the worse for you! 



SHELDRAKE ELEGANCE 

Dutiful 

As she was beautiful 
This girl was whom I knew in my time; 

Such were the grace of her 

And happy face of her, 

Voice so like a silver chime 
I could not catch a least note in rhyme, 

'Though I hear it now and again, 
Like the pretty bugle of a wren. 

So fair she was to see, 

As I saw her then, 
A man would lose his whole majesty 
If he could never know her again 
When morning brought her no other care 

Than caroling, leaping free 
To perch like a blossom in the air 
For perfect so he could not spare 
One moment of her and she so fair. 

Yet could she not see 
Herself so but what 
There must he ways for her to be 
Yet more beautiful — there were angles 
Ribbons could make, there were bangles 
Ears could wear, there were bays. 
Yuccas, cutish bonnet- ways, 
350 



Sheldrake Elegance 351 

The diamond-eye which blinks and spangles, 
Feather-head displays; 

Why not teach the cheek 

New cunning, one daub • 

Of pink, one way to rob 
Modesty of a chance to speak, 

Or just about the throat 

Put little knuckles of pearl. 

As if they could strike a note 
Or match the swan-white neck of a girl 

For Beauty half a mote? 

Is not Beauty enough. 

Take it in the rough? 

Spare us your hand 

That would clip and doctor and countermand. 
As well I take my Shiraz-grape, 
Pltmip it in your pot of sand 
For a whiter new pure kind of land, 
Dock it to one size and shape, 
Tie this ribbon in the nape 
For witness to my master-hand ! 

Her Beauty would not do, 
Was not enough to satisfy — 
She must have sunflower, plomb-blue, 
Old fustic or pot of dye 
To smother herself, snuff out 
The dimple-play, river pout, 
Make herself over new, 
All to try to persuade her 
She could be handsomer than God made her. 



352 Sheldrake Elegance 

Now then came her lover, 
Who for first time saw above her! 

She stood not so high 
As once she was in his keen eye 
For Beauty — he could not see 
Trace of the old supremacy 
Of sweet face that used to be, 

Now it was lost in feathers 
Like a new moon in a mix of weathers. 

So she lost her lover so 

By seeming more, by being less 

Than just her own true loveliness — 

Gone was her charm as cheek will go 

Out of a rose if I indigo 

The blush just as it tries to blow — 

One sure thing was this : he was gone 

Like starlight out of a melted dawn, 

Nor reason for it she could con. 

Gold was her portion in this world, 
Plenty rich yellow mighty gold; 
She should be furbelowed and pearled, 
Wonder would wonder to behold 

One so fine so young. 
Her pearls to dangle from every tongue, 

She to shine alone 
As shines the moon in an empty zone 
All by a Beauty not her own. 

Yet life proved to be not enough 
That she herself just herself should love, 
Now her neglected heart 
Began to play a part. 



Sheldrake Elegance 353 

Herself just and her gold 

And the story is old: 
Nothing was in it to satisfy 
Longing which will not die — 
Always came the one certain sigh, 

One fine low whisper in the heart 
How nothing in the world is much 
If love be out of it, how your art, 
Your power supreme, your gold and such 

Will dwindle to a point, 
The life you go run out of joint 
If you hold this soul-part back, 
Never give the heart a snack, 
Try to fatten on a lack. 

Came, too, one old truth new again : 
Each new loss makes a certain gain, 
As there one day it was told 
For wonder that she lost her gold — 
For so it was — she was bereft 
Of feathers and not a quillful left- 
Just her plain look again was there; 
Once more came the girlhood hair. 
Free-play laugh and careless air 
To put her at her best for fair. 

Next now her lover came to see 

The old Beauty in her— 't was an hour of May, 

Close to evening, there was one way 

Straight to his cinnamon-tree 

Of a garden corner, the old place 

Of pretty spurge, corn-bottle grace — 



354 Sheldrake Elegance 

There came just her sweet one sigh 

Now the new moon began to ply 

And he came straight to her lip and eye 

With all of that one mortal kiss 
Men die for rather than they miss — 

Truth was as truth is, 
The simple-skirted way of her 
And natural free play of her 
Made marvel of such supremacy 
Of loveliness as found his heart 
By her art of knowing not an art, 
This one text put plain above her : 
Hide your gold if you want a lover! 



HIS WORST 

The value of evil lies in this: 

The thing was meant to be overcome 
In a fight to see who the master is, 

One test of strength in the total sum 
Which moulds a man, builds him strong — 

There is the value of wrong! 



What a bull-hided ass 

Man is to think 
He may let the God's truth pass, 

Ignore it with a wink, 
May throw him against the laws 

Which govern his chops and paws, 
Drive smash against what is right 

To be master by might, 
Nor sees Beauty around 

In sky and ground, 
Beauty wherever he looks 

In storm-horns or brooks, 
Beauty of soul and limb. 

Beauty the food and flower of him. 
He deep there in the swim 

With no power to get out 
More than the sun-beam trout 

May dodge his spots or water-spout- 
Beauty which, whenever struck, 

Strikes back at his blunder-pluck. 
355 



356 His Worst 



Speaking of laws, by the way, 

Effect and cause day by day, 
Laws of matter and mind 

Which I hunt and I find, 
Laws which hold each planet true 

To a track in the skies, 
Stripe a sea-bream's gullet blue, 

Plant stars in his eyes — 
Laws which also I find 

Harness wings to the mind 
Till I grow high inclined. 

Half by the truth I find. 
Half by the false I leave behind — 

Speaking of mind and matter laws, 
How they work effect and cause, 

Did you think Right and Wrong 
Piped another song, 

Ran hap-hazard wild 
As a runaway child. 

Are governed by no rules. 
Like a pair of fools? 

Oh, brother, there goes one beautiful law 

Worth your hunting for, 
Power of Rightness to run 

Above any sun. 
Power of Rightness to cut through 

All the worst in view. 
Power of Rightness to survive 

All you see alive. 
Beauty to the flaming spit, 
Man to become part of it 
If he would seize upon Power, 

Ride the riding hour! 



His Worst 357 



Take to thought this story once I heard ! 

True, I wager, ev'ry word, 
An old-time tale which was told 

By men who were growing old. 
So could get one glimpse of truth 

Never they got in youth ! 

Young my man was who grunted in wealth, 
Held his two lips up to health, 

Nothing he wanted which men 
Try for again and again 

Ere they fail, ere they drop — 

Wealth and power filled his crop. 

Alone he lived in his palace-home; 

Full away far the gilded dome 
Was seen of men as they saw 

How he lived to angle for 
Evil ever — never he stood 

For a game which was trued. 

Beautiful was as a place coiild be 
All about him — one could see 

Grape-hyacinth and monkey-flower 
Lure a musk-ox to their bower, 

Big battalions of pink birds 

With only songs for words, 

Porphyry fountains so high in air 
They caught breath of fire there; 

Apple saplings in short dress 

Made their mark for loveliness; 

Everywhere was everything 
To let the senses ring. 



358 His Worst 

For understanding my young man well, 

I have this of him to tell : 
Wrong he loved, by way of choice 

As boy among fellow boys. 
Joyed in evil as a fish 

Leaps to his wash and wish. 

He grew his way to be man by spite. 
Grew cruel and mean by might 

Of power and wealth which he had. 
All he thought to do was bad 

As hell could think it or do it. 

Nor thought he once ever he could rue it. 

Alone he lived, yet kept no mind 

Ever to be left behind 
In what this world counts first. 

To tickle each kind of thirst, 
Put the senses to bubble, 

Dodge every trouble. 

Think ever of marriage he could not 
For its forced forget-me-not ; 

Could not think of it for love, 

That were never game enough. 

Besides being twice too good 

To match lips with his puma-mood. 

Evil he loved, yet he could not find 

Any woman of his kind 
To fill his thought, take his hue. 

Match him, take to evil too 
For love of it, so he played 

This game of craft instead: 



His Worst 359 

A child he took to his home to raise, 
To mould to his thought and ways, 

An orphan child which he found 
Famished in the village pound. 

Took her to coddle and keep 
And one day to reap. 

She should take on his color of thought, 
Be what he himself was to a dot. 

Grow to his liking for slave, 

Be like him, petulant knave. 

Bend to his whim like a flower 
To the lick of a shower. 

She should drink luxury all her days. 

Learn of his top-model ways 
How to catch sweetness which drops 

From a thistle-bird's chops. 
Know of life how it is made 

Just for jackal and jade. 

Nought she should know of aught good in life, 

Not know of husband and wife, 
Of virtue, wisdom, or truth. 

Not know of love in her youth. 
Only of evil to do 

To be great through and through. 

Grew she up so to take his will, 

To step to his drum-tap drill. 
Took his thought, mastered his knack 

Of loving life for its lack 
Of what was noble or true — 

So she lived, so she grew. 



360 His Worst 

The animal in him took first prize, 
Tiger-love to light his eyes, 

Lips like two nuggets of flame 

To destroy — all his great game 

Was just to dodge truth and its kinks, 
Play loose as a lynx. 

Life they both took as the wild winds slap 
At my pear or carrot-cap. 

Thought not of others, but just 
Of their swill-tub of lust. 

Cut loose, cut wild in their day 
Their gyrfalcon way. 

The Beauty of things she saw about. 
He woiild tell her with his flout. 

Was meant to inflame the blood. 
Body was the only good, 

Hot flesh, bold bowel-desire. 
Four lips and one fire. 

His pink small birds in his bouquet-tree 

Only sang luxuriously 
To bring taste into the lips, 

Tingle nerves to the finger-tips, 
Join mouth and mouth y-fere. 

Put a lute in the ear. 

Touch just and taste were points in sight: 
Take his lemon-tree and kite. 

Matched were they two to mingle 
Life and soul and elbow-tingle, 

All for the sake of one gulp 
Of treacle and pulp. 



His Worst 361 

Beauty could serve no use, so he saw, 

Worth her time for trying for 
But to send blood to a boil, 

Teach the white forearm to coil, 
Lips to low-languish to die — 

Every breath is a sigh ! 

See how he counted without his host! 

Never he saw her other ghost 
Which held her, kept her in keep, 

Even as the wild winds sleep 
Before the spurs of the sun 

Put them to the run. 

Her hidden self which he never saw, 

Never once was looking for. 
Her deep-down soul which was there. 

Held her in keep and in care. 
Would not let her once out of sight 

The small part of a night — 

Her soul ! Oh, friend, take to this for true, 

There 's the subtle soul in you 
Will not be lost sight of, 

Clings to Beauty for the might of 
All things which are dreamed or known, 

And they are all your own! 

For look, one night they swang together 

In his hammock as a feather 
Tosses careless in the wind; 

The day was worn and thinned 
To one small opening of pink, 

As if night tried to wink; 



362 His Worst 

Fell they asleep in each other's arms 
Among his fan-trees and balms ; 

Song-lips whistled in the leaves, 
Fig-birds fingered at the eaves 

Of fountains of silver song 

Through the sweet night long. 

Each little end of a thumb of grass 
Pointed more than this life has, 

Would dangle an eye of dew. 

Throw one pure look back to you 

All only that you should see 
More is to come to to be 

Than jowls or your angles made of knees, 
Lip-lust and the elbow-squeeze. 

Pap-life which men so boast of 

They have gained, made the most of- 

Puff-balls to scatter their dust 
To the slaps of a gust ! 

Life was worth well doing, she dreamed — 
Summer dog- wheat how it beamed, 

Branches for fingers to reach 

To drop her their fatted peach, 

She in her way to grow great 
As blue plums in a date. 

Dreamed she, so, she sickened at heart 
To think of what tumble-bug part 

She played in life, so far for what 
Counted only diaphragm-pot, 

All the best part of her gone 
Like a star after dawn. 



His Worst 363 

The man at her side was monster-thought ! 

Think of him now she could not 
But for hatred and fierce hard heart 

Which throbbed to tear him apart— 
To scatter him limb and limb 

Now was her one thought of him ! 

Nor sooner thought than there as she slept, 

Softly to his throat she crept, 
Locked her white teeth where each small breath 

Whispered to him of only death, 
Tore his throat out for her feast 
By the bite of a beast. 

How his white nostrils pointed sharp 

As the fins of a carp. 
Such two straight eyes meant to die 

Staring into yonder sky 
As if for a chance to see 

What was left him to be! 

Each star looked down the same as before, 

Yet he should see them no more ! 
Had he gone another way 

To begin again— who shall say, 
Save that he did his worst 

And the thing is curst? 



MY FRIENDS 



Homeless sea-coot perches at night 
In sea-rip, between its teeth, 
To claw storms, swallow blight. 
Knowing never how to breathe, 
How the washes suck and seethe, 
Marshalls his feathers in place 
For oars, one foot out for rudder, 
The other under for his keel 
To straight him like an iron heel 
And not a little ounce of pudder 
As on he drives to cut and peel 
The seas off so to let me feel 
He is master to split them through 
The spike-beak of foam-ugly blue 
To ride them out to the top-end too. 



Molly-mauw is in wing 
To plow above the thundering; 
I could see the sea-boil churn 
Round which once he fetched one turn, 
One wheeling wheel as if to split 
The bull-wind, make mince of it, 
Then the clean upward shoot. 
All the planet under foot 
364 



My Friends 365 

As if to point one point to men 
Worth their looking to again, 
The point in his blue meridian, 

III 

Helminth furrows through his park, 
Sails by no chart under ground, 
Makes him master of the dark 
By tough rub, downward bound 
To where he neither knows nor cares 
So he bore the planet through 
Trusting to his power to run 
Up or down, builds no stairs, 
Which is more than you could do 
Who cry for Heaven and help and sun. 



Fingerling fears not his wave, 
There he lives there in his grave, 
Topsy-turvy for his sport. 
Endless ocean for his court, 
Every unknown coast his port, 
And he no end in sight 
But fine fins and endless flight 
To keep his poise, flash his blue, 
Loophole power to button to. 



Little lintie in his cell 
In a fork of zinfandel, 
Under his one leaf for shed 
To duck the sun off overhead, 



366 My Friends 

Tunes his master-music true, 

One song for him, two for you 

If you put an eye to glisten, 

Let him know you love to listen, 

He of no greedy thought, 

What 's to come of it, what not, 

So he unbosom to sing. 

You for listener, he for king 

Till there your heart will clap and ring. 



VI 



Ibex under quitasol 

Of his branch of ice. 

Mastiff mountain for his doll, 

Hungry gullet for his price 

He pays for power to climb 

Up above pastures of snow 

Into all shining rime. 

Leaves his bath of sun below, 

Snatches at the blue point there 

Of fire which has all heaven to share, 

And Hfe is blue fire everywhere. 



Primula in Labrador hood 
Puts up a hand to take 
What there is of eternal good 
I call sweet, elegant make 
Of slender waist, of cotton cheek 
In scarlet, like a lip to speak; 
Thinking fingers, power to pass 
Thought up to you from the grass- 



My Friends 367 



Such the wing-swing to and fro, 
Such whisper, if kind winds blow, 
Such tiny hand up to you so 
To hold to, to not let you go! 



Grass-moth like an eagle sails 

In his forest of green spars, 

Makes his heaven, never fails, ' 

Yet he never sees the stars. 

Plays his Maygame in the sun,' 

Overjoy on wing to run, 

While scarcely is his dancing done 

Ere he will round the sunbeam swing, 

Fetch his poise for silvering 

In open heaven, there to cling 

To perish boldly on the wing. 



IX 



Ounce in his cape of fur 

Forgets winter, forgets to stir; 

The sky empties its dippers. 

For here is snow in the wind 

— Only the wind in silver slippers — 

While my monarch has it pinned. 

His jaws in the snarling wind, 

His claws in the mountain roots. 

While I hear him beat and gnash. 

Take the tough wind's ugly gash, 

So who is there now disputes 

His monarchy, his royal routes 

To lordship beyond storm or brutes? 



368 My Friends 



Sword-bee plunges his sword 

— Wise of you you take my word — 

Strikes because he follows sweet 

And you there bent on his defeat ; 

He files in blossom, drinks the dew 

Of moly, while just as you 

Come to put your bill there too 

He lets you have it, through and through! 

So he monarchs in lilac limb. 

Not the panther troubles him ; 

Sucks the honeysuckle's teat, 

His life just his trick to tickle 

Gullet and he drowns in treacle — 

So he souls and bowls for sweet. 

Only sweetness his defeat. 



Chelonian lives in his casket. 
Ducks his head in, too, to mask it; 
Unbeautiful, yet is he wise 
To pass the sun off and the flies 
To capture peace before he dies; 
Never lip of him to speak. 
Never blush in the iron cheek, 
So safe in his pelt of brass 
High hyena lets him pass, 
Just his safety all he has. 



Chum-dog — he such m}^ friend 
As makes no mention of himself 



My Friends 369 

More than mute aerial elf, 
Follows me to the ripe dead end 
Of any worst way I go, 
Takes disaster with me so 
Like a spark of what is divine 
I know his fine heart ties to mine 
By love which is frightless and true 
And mightier than many of you — 
Lion-bold to take his stand 
And we take life and death in hand 
The way we love and understand, 
While what is there more of limb 
In you, of handsome spirit-whim 
In you than what I find in him? 

XIII 

These are my friends — I know them so 

All by their one way they go 

To ripen, to take their seat 

Higher than your game — Defeat ! 

Look how they fetch all they are ! 

Look how they come near and far 

As any spirit, any star! 

Look them, will you, through and through 

To see in them the power in you 

To ripen, gripen, strike to do. 

And not the gold-coin-sky in view ! 



These are my friends to the last ditch ! 
They take just my itch and pitch. 
My love of crumpet, my finger-twitch. 
And, mark, they never drop a stitch ! 



370 My Friends 

Under the sun they stripe and broaden, 

Whether kinging or down-trodden, 

Open eyes to greaten, Godden; 

So I get my truth from them 

As it arrows from my gem ; 

So they show what soul may be, 

So they bring their soul to me. 



My friends and always my friends! 

Life to them for little ends 

Did you think? Which were greater. 

Surmullet in emerald water 

Prancing in his palace-quarter. 

Or you, twibil up for slaughter, 

You the boasted Beauty-hater, 

Nature's mighty underrater? 

I and they seek the same ends 

So as soul on soul depends, 

So I tell you we are friends! 



MAN OR BOOK? 

Once I had a friend was writing a book- 
Now look 
To see what a worid of pains he took 

In his optative, in his preterit, 
His purpose to wrestle with an "if" 

To argue an absolute relative, 
As if spirit depended on it — 

Now see, 
There he would pick at Divinity 
To make it less than Infinity 
So he could come to understand 
God too has a lip and hand, 
Finds a thing to do or say 

Man-mannered, the Kickapoo-way, 
Takes time, 
Takes means to accomplish things. 

So he argued: My sparrows chime. 
By which I know God whistles and sings. 

First this : 
What use in my heart or land 

Of a God no man may understand, 
A God I am meant to miss? 

My word, one page of his reason 
Had a kick in it of treason 
Like this: 

371 



372 Man or Book? 



Man makes his clock by his thinking-plan, 

Then is his clock like the Maker, Man! 
So too 
God must have a shin or two. 

Likewise must have love and hate, 
Have what you have to make Him great ! 
Like him 

His Maker must have his trick and whim 
To think, to reason each purpose out, 

So He must have the trick to doubt, 
For here is one certainest thing : 

No doubt, no need of reasoning. 
So too 
This much truth he could not see: 

Aught other is Divinity 
Than what I touch or think or see, 

Neither false in it nor true, 
Neither good in it nor bad. 

Nor sorrow nor being glad. 
But other something — who knows what 

To compass endlessness by thought? 
Give I an attribute to God, 

Any part of man or pod, 
I make Him human. Him I prefine, 

Nor make me, one whit more, divine. 
So on he pried for what is true: 

The sun might be a breath of cold 
If its lungs were only gold, 

Or under lip a little blue! 
Petrarch sounded for what was true 

In himself, not in worlds or you, 
So only doubled on the clue. 

So aimed my friend, writing his book, 
Always the empty-bottle-look 



Man or Book ? 373 

Of one eye sighted on one star 
To take light in, hedge it about, 

Never to wink an atom out, 
Most as most mortals are ! 

One sun-born morning it was. 

Under his cherry-ball haws, 

A song came down from his poon-tree top, 

A thrasher's voice, such chant in his crop 

I only knew 
He roused and raptured me too and through. 

There there was now at his hand 
One true-souled laughingest girl. 
Such a bright heart as could understand. 
Such an eye as the soul of a pearl 

To rapture him too, 
Gifted to read a man through and through. 

"Show me your book," she said, 
"Your book for the man instead, 
I '11 drink it from cover to cover, 
I love a book like a lover — 
Let me look to see 
If the book or the man count most with me. 

"Ah, so, God is that or this, 
Something to gain or to miss ! 
You play your game for an end in view, 
Nor count the end or the gain in you — 

The most you would do 
Is make life yield its most to you. 

"And what you would give, you say, 
Is what you must for a way 



374 Man or Book? 

To square accounts, so you pay your pay 
To purchase God's Kingdom one fine day, 

While you never knew 
The Kingdom of God is the God in you. 

"You glorify God, you think. 
By candle or prayer-book wink. 
As if it were not nobler you star 
Yourself for the best of you you are 

To be large and true, 
God, in the end, to glorify you; 

"You to be man nor snivel, 

Never fear of God or Devil, 

Love only, high love of truth and man 

For mastership by the spirit-plan 

To be highest true — 
There 's the whole noblest great God in you ! 

"You in your book take your pinch 
Of what you may never know. 
You try to platoon soul by the inch, 
March it one way as the senses go. 

So you never see 
Soul is one deep divinity. 

"What would you say were better, 
Man to go free as a bird 
To leap and sing as winds are stirred, 
Or tuck his neck in a fetter 
To coddle his fear. 
Nor go to be greater ever or freer? 

"Such is your book — as I say, 
Never the throb of a lay 



Man or Book ? 375 

Of the heart; yet nought flics above 
This deep everlasting human love 

To model a soul 
Shall compass the keenest supremest whole. 

"Greater the man than the book, 
Now that I 've taken my look ! 
Such were the ring of my maiden voice 
Had I my way, could I take my choice. 

Nor another look 
For Truth in your one-eyed bottle-book. 

Up and away with me now 
To tune two hearts to one song 
Of the thrasher that pipes in his bough ! 
Since life is so short, let love be long 

As all hope may see, 
While I sing of only my love of thee!" 



WILY SMILEY 



He was one trick-smiler, this Smiley, 

Our Wily; 
Had his way with women well in hand; 
No new trick was contraband 

Which could capture — 

His task was easy : 
Only to be light and breezy 

To peddle rapture 
To women — he knew their kink: 
Much to say, little to think. 



By sun-up I saw him pass 

To and fro 
Like a shuttle before a looking-glass 

For fashion so 
To try and capture his own smile, 

Yet all the while 
He knew she waited, sun-up too. 
To be captured — what else lay in view, 
What else, 'faith, should any girl do 

In such a smile ? 
376 



Wily Smiley 377 



Once I saw him take an air 

Of consequence 

Of a suffragan, 
Till I began to ask the where 

And the whence 

Of such a man — 
Buttons mainly, shrimp tie 
To lasso women, to draw their sigh, 
Yet for power, king above style, 
Was his smile, his master-magic smile 

IV 

To win — there 's my man — 
Win out, give little as you can. 

Was his law — 
The thing 's worth smirking or whining for 
So you win — 

Better play your smile 

Of trick and guile 
Than lose a point or a girl — 
What more 's in Rajahship or Earl? 
Smile is the soul of a pearl — 



But not of the man — 
There 's the deep other under-smith than what 

Tickles ribs, prompts thought 
Of any bubble-belly plan, 
Which he comprehended not. 

Into a cheek of dimples 
Breaks my lake, snickers, rimples 



378 Wily Smiley 



At a breeze, 
Yet is breathlessness more than these, 
Lake finest, deepest, when most at ease. 

VI 

The one sweet maid 

He aimed to take. 

Now his plan was laid. 

Put her heart at stake 
Between him and another. 
One true outfashioned nature-brother 
Of soul, man-side straight 
As star-beams, heart as great 
As hope, nor shift nor guile. 
And, save he felt it, never a smile. 



Yet Smiley took the lead; 
A light wind struts before a gale; 
Of nothing much was there need 
For Smiley, save to smile 
Fulsomy to never fail, 
A trick as much his habit 
As the tail-bob of a rabbit — 
Small trouble, you would suppose, 
As flowers come and this world goes, 
For him to pluck his rose. 



The other one there, 
Man-fashion fair, 
Grew shy now he saw circumstance 
Was come to overtop his chance 
Of winning the girl — 



Wily Smiley 379 

Had yet to learn how power which is love 
Wins ever over and above 
Pistareen grin, button-jacket, 
Red feather racket — 
They learn the power of love, too, who lack it. 

IX 

One jaspered afternoon 

Of a week of June 

Was a junket of flowers, 

Belle-girls in tall grass. 
Clove and trillium in bamboo-bowers, 
Flood of joy such an afternoon has 
With — well, there now came Smiley, 
Smile on, unhinging to bow 
To bend himself his style wily, 
His lasso-curve as he knew how ! 



There Wily was in the midst of them. 
The polish of him of a gem 
Clean to the last elbow-hem — 

Now he was here, now not. 
Thrashed about among them just 
As a bee thumps in a honey-pot, 

As needs he must 
To show power, show what he could do 

To turn the heads of a few 
Who look a man not once through and through, 



But mark his shin-style, 
The wag of him, clam-shell smile 



380 Wily Smiley 

Of mouth open wide 

So they see only pearl inside, 

Mark his tri-button vest, 
Spit curls for his level best 
High-handed work of art 
To trap fancy, hook the heart- 
There was his way 
He took to juggling that day 



XII 



To fast-fasten them, play lielord 

By talking love — 

The lie was enough. 
Much as his bankrupt heart could afford- 
Yet such men, oft in a while, 
Get touched deeper than the smile, 

As now did Smiley, 
Sly dog, yet not so slyly 
But here for once he saw 
More in one girl than he bargained for. 

XIII 

She too, in a way, was caught 
By his feather-grace, 
Globird glitter, chicken face, 
As which of them was not? — 
While he, the other one there, 
Star-beam straight, lustrous fair, 
Kept to himself, could not go 
Chance-picking among them all 

At beck and call, 
So much he honored and loved her so. 



Wily Smiley 381 



His day was past and gone, 

So he said, 
This world not worth looking on. 

Life good as dead 
And she lost to him — now he saw 
No world was worth the angling for 
And she out of it — yet he could 
Not sniggle to get her, if he would — 

"Love," said he, "must win, 
Or I lose, I '11 not play quip and grin, 

XV 

When, just by chance 
Of cunning circumstance 
She caught his eye. 
The large clean eye full of good 

As there he stood, 
Arm 'round her pet carob-tree 

Much as to say: 
"Here, at least, I may have my way, 
Since, next to you, your tree 
Has its roots in the heart of me" — 



Which was more than she could brook, 
His love-lighted eye and sorrow look, 
And so 
Right as he was up to go 
To Ipave her there to yield 
To Smiley, to leave the field 



382 Wily Smiley 

To Smiley who seemed to know 
A girl's heart best, 
As was manifest 
The way he had them bedevilled so- 



Right as he was up to go 
By the stone-wall gate 
Now the hour was late, 
Nor looked back to see if she cared or no, 

Sudden as one wild surprise 

Two small hands from just behind 

Came folded over his eyes 
With — " Do you so love to be blind? 
Would you go and not one look to me? 
Who so blind as they that will not see?" 



AMONG RUINS 



Everything ends in Beauty, 
So Beauty alone survives; 
So many hard hits at duty, 
So many cycles of lives 
All gone out, yet there in you 
They stand for Beauty — so, too. 
The farther they stretch away 
Into some past lost day. 
By that much more they hold to you 

Their lost fine features, silky thought 
Out of which this soul is wrought. 
For which you love them — so there 
Is what Beauty they wrought in you. 
Like nothing other for wondrous fair. 
You that so love what is fine and true. 



I see the moon as before, 
A wheel of pinnacles like a chain of eyes 

Looking forevermore 
Where time multiplies and man dies — 

I see the clear cold sands 

No time commands, 
See Almamon first, then Abulfeda, 
Head put straight as an ostrich feather 
383 



384 Among Ruins 

Through the white-eyed velvet shine 
For me, the wonder of it mine, 
Mandarin, orange-columbine 
Till I go to think how they, 
My other brothers, went their way 
World- watching, followed the same moon 
Where it played in their lap of June, 
Warmed their cheek by it, dried their tears 
By the light of it a thousand years 
Before me — then the pale yellow 
Touches and makes a new fellow. 
New Beauty down in the soul of me — 
Each grain of sand is a dancing gem 
Now I go to think of them 
Who were the happy whole of me, 
So as I watch their same moon burn 
And chill, I give them back, in turn. 

My heart — There 's how I see 
Other Beauty yet to be, 
Vaster soul in the soul of me ! 



Athens had once her playground noise 
Of school-out, bright Ionian boys 

To the last shout of free glee. 
Such as breaks no more for you or me ! 

Now comes my parrot-guide. 
Breaks reverie, snatches me aside 
With: "These pillars once were joined, 
Tuscan-work, Gothic-groined 
Before Christ — have a whiff 
At the dripstone and ditriglyph — 
This end of a pylon will show 
How poorly men do now or know 



Among Ruins 385 

As against those Doric ones — they knew 

Trick-art, a what to do, 

As watch this truncated stair, 

How yet it polishes the air 
Into open heaven, yet none to cHmb, 
As if left for souls who are gone 
To take their last certain step upon 

Of a march sublime — 

Yon broken columns next by 

For fingers to point a way 
Through ruin up to permanent day 

In a constant sky." — 

What counts all of it for me, 

Tholus or squinch-arch, 

Save that I may see 
Through the whole of it my thousand boys 

A thousand years before me, 

Now at their laurel-march. 

Now at their school-out noise, 
Hap-happy the way a boy shall be 
To be whole boy whole boy-fully? — 

Then through cornice and column 

Comes the one thought, sweet-solemn, 
How somehow they are one with me 
In spite of such eternity 

Of years as cut us apart, 

One thought, purpose, hope, heart, 

I bound to them by more 

Than broken post or corridor, 

To wit, the common human tie 

Which lingers, never to die, 
And quick each gutter-sill, each mold 
Takes new form. Beauty is there, 
The silent kind, not to be told, 



386 Among Ruins 

Soul-secret love, keenest care, 

Each small pulse of it so much 
Above pencilling or touch 

As soul is super-breathful fair. 



IV 



Old Miletus under lake, 

Not a column to be seen — 

Have a sail on it, take 

Thought of the Nyanza green 

And wave-wash, face of silver lips 

Where the same sun dodges and dips 

Till evening — then the clear glass 

Which will not let a star-speck pass. 

But holds it that you shall see 

Sky taken down to spread 

Above the long-gone dead 

For Beauty so eternally, 

As if to say: Look not for them 'round 

This dull underground, 

The what they thought or built 

In crowstone or terrace-tilt 

Where they were once, to see how 

Life grew from dug-out to dumping-scow, 

But over and above all to see 

How they kept growing endlessly. 

Then think of it what they must be now! 

Over each forgotten grave 

Tumbles the silver wave 

And no heed of them nor thought, 

How they popinjayed or wrought, 

Thales and Cadmus and the rest 

Who went their way, did their best — 



Among Ruins 387 

Thus saith the star-lighted wave: 

Hang not about a little grave 

Of Beginners — they saw how 

A grave climbs up into tree and bough, 

Yet they must climb to mightiness, 

The kind which counts for less and less — 

Wonder is if they ever knew 

'T is mighty only to be true — 

So went their way, I wonder where, 

Or what direction — the sky is fair 

Of promise for grave and bough, 

While I wonder what they must be now! 



My Rosalie — alas. 

Came now her turn to turn and pass 

Beyond me — I looked, yet none could see 

Her plain way — She said it should be 

Likewise plain one day to me — 

This was her garden-plot 

Of pretty bergamot — 

There through the open field was her path 

Up to the rose-ousel rath 

And her look-out bower 

Till she took the new wide way 

Beyond me — there now I look 

To find in her salmon-flower, 

In her meadow-brook, 

A trace of her, if I may — 

Neither here is she nor there 

In leaf or citronella-snare. 

And the Beauty of her is everywhere — 

Not what I may take or touch, 



388 Among Ruins 

That 's not the best of it, my friend, 

That red lip which has an end. 

Apricot-cheek which I may clutch 

To see it one day pale 

Like Spring does at a flock of hail, 

Seeing how I see otherwise 

Than blue just or dancing dew 

For Beauty in those eyes — 

Somewhat is there which is true, 

Marvellous truth to be trusted to. 

Which is not moulded of dust and dew; 

Love is there — all worlds above 

And about me make not enough 

To count one atomful of love ; 

Hope is there — will I find hope 

Bounded by the Scorpio-scope, 

Lodged in a pot of heliotrope? 

Yesterday she stood clear and fair 

As the sun-ended air — 

And now no more! 

I peek in at her open door: 

Her reed-throated chaffinch tunes 

Paeans of a thousand Junes; 

There her goldfish, her little table 

And room put happy-comfortable 

As if to say: "Don't go — 

You see her cage-bird is in tune, 

Her ceiling keeps its zenith-glow, 

And she '11 be back again surely soon!" 

Once more now think of those eyes — 

Is there light enough or blue 

In the vast eternal blue skies 

To print such another eye for you, 

Such bobolink eye of hers. 



Among Ruins 389 

Heart in it, Godful-truc, 

Where light sleeps while spirit stirs? 

So I know Beauty survives 

Above planetary lives 

To come again and again 

Where all else may be vain 

Or poor picking. — Summer is on ! 

Small summer and my Rosalie gone, 

Save this: Here fast in the soul of me 

I have her to stay the dole of me — 

There is the heart and whole of me ! 



FOR EXAMPLE: 

Right doing is the thing, 

Right doing stands for king! 
There 's a thing for you to believe, 

A game for you to play, 
A king-card up your sleeve 

For a mastodon-way 
To power. Take a look 

In the symposium-book 
Of stars, watch how they play 

At neither night nor day; 
How they plunge and sputter for 

Power to keep the supreme law 
Of Beauty, which is power 

To the eternal hour! 
God-like is every sky 

In its reaching high 
To blossom into might 

By majesty of Right, 
Round on round of worthiness 

Loftier than heart may guess — 
Nothing comes to less and less ! 

Right is wealth of soul, 
Wrong is the zero-goal, 

Poverty-stretch of killing care . 
For each nothing which is there. 

Evil has a claw 
390 



For Example 391 

Wholly hidden in the paw — 

Here is how the cunning law 
Worked out in a case I knew 

Of men once who sought to do 
Their evil-best, thought to win 

By biting like a moccasin, 
By serpentining tried to trick ; 

Right out of his bailiwick, 
Beauty out of her throne 

In yonder crown-jewel zone. 

Once were two men of an ugly look: 

Thought had a task to cipher them out; 

One wore a lip of an ugly pout, 

The other an eye like a pruning-hook 

To make his way by hook or crook — 

Robbers from youth — I show you the law 

My Gospel drums and trumpets for ! 

In a cave these two men hovelled. 

There like rats they gnawed and grovelled 

In a hole gouged out of a rock 
In such way cunningly so 

None ever saw them come or go — 

There they conjured to pick the lock 

Of the world below. 

Much was the gold they brought 
To hide in their den; 

Their way through the world like wolves they fought, 
While the best of men 

Fell prey, dropped into their clutch 
For little or much — 

Thieves and thugs were there never such. 



392 For Example 

Long as their treasure was small 

They lived in peace 
To plunder — such was all 

They looked to, their way to increase 
Their spoil, as other men lost 

By each trick- witted cabal — 
What could it matter, the end or cost? 

One hundred years are gone, 
People with them — not a thought 

Of those days but is clean forgot — 
Time tumbles on and on. 

Others come and go, 
Till wonder is men feel and know 

Just as they did in the long ago. 

A shepherd boy is caught 
One early morning in a storm. 

Makes the cave where these robbers wrought 
To house him and keep him warm, 

When — to show how nothing dies, 
See what marvel woke his eyes 

To wonderment and shock-surprise! 

Here in this darkest quoin 

Glistens their heap of coin ; 
Next by in the after-hold 

Lies their mound of gold. 
Yellow-bright as sun and moon, 

Lasting as each granite dune, 
Thousands of ducats multifold. 

Two skeletons, each fast to the other 

By jaw-bite, not as brother to brother, 



For Example 393 

Fingers clinched in each other's eyes 

To tear the brain out once was there, 

Each at the other's mercy Hes 

In clutches of death, brother to brother, 

Right where each one killed the other! 

How they fought you could see, 
Like wild beasts, each his mastiff-hold 

On his brother's throat, never plea 
For life — they fought for their heap of gold 

Tooth and nail unto death, 
Each one to stop his brother's breath 

For loot-heap, nor loose his hold. 

There they lie to grin at each other, 

Skull and bones of each blasted brother, 

While next beside them each heap of gold 
Knew cunning enough to slip their hold! 

Let him be mighty to overbold 

For conquest to gripple what he can. 

What is there of wrong shall profit a man? 



DEAD 

Not what he gained, but what he gave was his, 

His best he had; 
What may a man give the world more than this, 

Or what is there else he shall keep 

When he drops off to sleep? 

You saw him drop, you and you, 

Here to these flags where your world went by 

And would not look — they knew and still they knew 

How he must wilt by the way to die, 

While over the lips of him silence would reign 

For your world that went sneaking by. 

You saw his left cheek flush and pale 
Like a day does just as it feels the dark, 
Fingers unloose, eye-light fail ; 
You saw how death had made him a mark — 
What hand was put out to pillow his head 
Where stones snap back with a bark? 

What did he when he was a child 

But pull at tulips, like any of you, 

His eye-laugh when some garden smiled, 

Leaping to make the most of it too? 

How your world is locked out if soul be free 

To be new like tulips are new! 

394 



Dead 395 

Did you think him different from you, 

Or otherwise so he could not feel? 

Fine sense, do you hold, was made for few, 

The rest must thrive under a heel? 

How comes it then, now as you see, he could die 

Like a man, such lips under seal? 

Does he lack soul who could stand 

Like a God in his place, face up to die, 

None about him to take his hand. 

No look save one from a growling sky. 

The whole pride of him brooched like a jewel there 

As your world went snivelling by? 

Look to the face, the fine mild face, 

Lip lowered, a smile left to play at each cheek. 

As if the spirit, on leaving its place, 

Saw some new world and wanted to speak! 

Any small meanness there as he lies 

Eyes up, any look of him weak? 

Look to the hand, too, open wide 

Put out to you as if to say : 

"No maHce I bear to the other side; 

We shall get together again one day. 

For the thing must come 'round which heart points out 

To be best in the hard long way. 

"We had our task, both you and I: 
I took to right by my mighty will; 
What matters what way I take to die, 
A wife's green satin lap at her windowsill, 
Blood-orange opals to finger my brow, 
Or this curb for pillow of chill ? 



396 Dead 

" Do ribbon-strings tie by a knot 

Fine inside soul to an outside worth 

Now I go, by way of our common lot, 

To the green satin lap of the earth? 

Did you think the soul of me, put to the test, 

Gathers death and not a new birth? 

"My whole first worth from start to last, 

The best there was of me, that I gave ; 

My fastened grip on one manful past 

Was all I could look to to hope to save; 

What more may they think of to have and to hold 

Who stoop to look into a grave?" 

That would he say if he could speak; 

Take the hand held out to you, wish him luck, 

His boy-smile there still stuck to his cheek, 

The thin chin turned up into pluck! 

Make the most of him, just as he is — I know 

His way if your hour had been struck. 

As youth came on, one breast of strength, 
The open warm hand— I knew that too — 
Never a day too wide for its length, 
Nothing too much for the will to do, 
I have seen him stand by to fight like a lynx 
For the thing that was kind and true. 

One night — how well I remember 
How the wind, like a leopard's claw, struck through 
While trying to run away from December — 
One lay, like he lies now, part blue, 
Part white — frost and death were out with their colors- 
One storm- waif, a white grave in view; 



Dead 397 

Snow was wrapping him 'round at last — 

Night was deep like the drifts — an end was near — 

Plis sleep was calm, each fist was fast, 

One little low breath, the wax- white ear, 

As he, whom you stand there to doubt and shun, 

Drew to the boy, did his best to hear 

If any breath of a soul was there. 
Put half his cloak to him, caught his wrists, 
Took him close in arms — there 's life to share 
With a brother-world when love insists — 
There he held fast to him into his night 
Of battles with biting mists 

Till he too, now beckoned by sleep. 
Dropped his whole thought before he knew. 
As quick the storm had him hard in keep. 
Pinned him down where the death-breath flew. 
Where they were found next day, breast to breast. 
With life enough left for the two. 

Now came his love-days, all at once. 
But shy, like arbutus creeps through green 
Low mushroom country, life for the nonce, 
Half a low blush partly seen — 
Hark how the best of him only dealt 
Death to such days as might have been! 

He loved the girl, she loved him too; 

They were as what would be called one hope 

Which nought could come between, put in two. 

Like sweet and its breath of heliotrope; 

One place they found in the world at last. 

But all outside of his horoscope. 



398 Dead 

One day, now Fall was come again 

To put new snow-caps where bells had been, 

Came one brother-friend to look in vain 

For some right way he could come between 

To claim the girl, since he loved her too, worse luck. 

With love which was young and keen. 

So pined most like an aspen leaf 
Quivers to shrivel 'twixt wind and sun; 
He was not strong to butt against a grief 
Like him who lies here, his heart-work done. 
Who knew a deep difference between the two, 
What one would seek, the other shun. 

He knew all men measured not the same; 

Half weakness were some, others all strong ; 

Your fern will go down in a little flame. 

Great hazel hang on to fight it long; 

How the boy-heart would break if he lost the girl! 

How the way of this world was wrong! 

So, too, he could not look to see 

His fine young friend with a rough old care 

To hawk-moth the cheek where the rose should be, 

Put the cross- wrinkles everywhere; 

What counted it, too, what he gained, what he lost. 

So the best of all love was there. 

Love which has nought to gain, 

But the whole best side of life to lose, 

Would not turn back to your world again 

For all it has to give, refuse. 

Since the way is straight out beyond, nor back, 

And loss has an infinite use. 



Dead 399 

So spake he to his friend Hke this : 

"Take the girl, tell her your full young heart; 

She shall learn love may not go amiss ; 

Trust all to me to perform my part ; 

She shall learn to forget me, to put me by 

For you in her change of heart." 

As so she did, for he made it so 

She lost her love of him day and day. 

While the friend stepped in, took never "No" 

For answer, as over the way 

At yon gable stoop there they live to love 

As he lies here, clay unto clay. 

I know what your world will say, 

How he played the fool and he lost the game 

Which they play for what it is worth to-day, 

Since the winding up is all the same 

If a man shall lose or win a hand. 

So there 's only the fool to blame. 

Ah, so your world may know a fool 

By the game he plays to a forfeiture, 

Just as wisdom — here 's your golden rule — 

Is a trick to make the profit sure; 

Who loses is lost, your way you think, 

Even in a game of coverture. 

Yet think again — let us suppose 

He kept the girl to himself— he knew 

One heart would snap like a wrinkled rose, 

His own pop out as hawk-eyes do; 

How white he is, his face to Heaven 

In the melt of a pitiless dew ! 



400 Dead 

Suppose him to live to-day, 

There with his love at her window-sill, 

His boy-face friend to put lips to clay 

As he does now — what a tongue is still ! — 

He would get what your world has to give for love 

Which blossoms to pink and fulfil. 

The boy will have dropped by the way. 
But what of that, there are friends to spare; 
The weak must go so the strong may stay, 
Nature 's fiat old tune is everywhere ; 
Just a trick to survive, with a creed or two, 
And the soul of all souls is there ! 

Is to succeed, to gain an end, 

To force such advantage where I can. 

To play my game, neither fool nor friend. 

Life's best soul-portion of its plan? 

Then were the chipmunk mightier than its God, 

This world were greater than the man! 

Is the world so much, in any sense 

So fair or great that spirit is filled 

By a purpose planned in the present tense 

And all is well when the lip is stilled? 

Yet here is a soul — how he stares at the stars — 

Which your world could never have filled. 

He took his place where cross-roads crook 
Like an elbow which runs to hand and spall; 
Either way is right, nor he stopped to look, 
Both lead where power in the man is all. 
And your profit only a spit of wind — 
How the ways of the world are small ! 



Dead 401 

Ah, I see, he is poor to-day. 
The shank there is lean, the boot boiled out; 
You '11 have to bury him, he cannot pay; 
Somewhat was wrong in his make, no doubt; 
Thumb-eyed, may be, or stunt, or mickle worse, 
One go-lucky unlucky lout 

Who put his price on life too low. 
Undervalued things which make for power, 
Cast his lot by chance, let chances go, 
Played fast and loose with the chain-shot hour, 
So nought is left by him men may take 
For gold, which is your kind of power. 

You wrong him deep as hell ! 

He starved his throat that the rest might stay, 

Could not hold to one silver shell, 

The whole price of his troubleful day, 

If a brother once stepped to the curb to drop 

To the street-pit over the way. 

So he ended as he began. 

Himself left out when profit came, 

Which may not be Genius, yet is it Man, 

While right there is your coin in a game 

Which is played for an empty soul, pretty much. 

Or a life-size hole in a frame — 

As here he is — not once he spoke. 

He could not have gone another pace 

For love of God or to dodge the stroke. 

Not for love of his climbing race. 

As witness the heart of him still hanging back 

Like stars in his evening face. 



86 



402 Dead 

Peace, then, and good will to the boy! 

He built in the soul with world left out. 

And what has been built which Gods destroy? 

This day one sure way has come about 

For one who not once tried to escape, 

One way straight up and out 

And above and beyond it here, 
This earth for one stepping-off place at best, 
And we will look back to him, year on year, 
The love he gave with his wide eyes west, 
To wonder and wish him well where he goes 
To new power and peace with the rest. 



KNOW THY PHYLLIS 

Take it for fact and I tell you this 

Of this one girl, 
One pretty plucky-minded miss 

Of lock and curl 
And lip and eye and cheek and chatter 
Which spared a man any thought to flatter. 

Often a quiet evening and he, 

Her bullfinch man, 
Looking his mortal best he could be, 

Would fetch his plan 
For a drive to take her by moon 
The Jew-jog road for a taste of June. 

So truly she put her trust in him, 

Her featherly man, 
Never she thought, 'though day grew dim. 

Of his subtle plan 
To get her to going his way 
Of the wild jump and tigerish play. 

More was to think of than she could know 

In her short life. 
How not all men, as men come and go. 

Will take to wife. 
But rather, just for dash and fling. 
Would snatch at the kiss, yet keep the ring 
403 



404 Know Thy Phyllis 

Such a night it was as I know how 

The moon was out 
Like a sickle to hook and reap, when now 

Came scowl and pout 
To change his face to animal-play 
Once he saw he was not to have his way. 

Fifteen miles from home for fair! 

The fields stood thick 
In meadow-rue among moonbeams there 

To help him trick 
To try to snare, by his spiderly art, 
The heavenliness of her clean young heart. 

"Life is a kiss, and then we are gone," 

He said to her. 
Right where the dew-shine was being born 

In crowfoot and fir; 
"Let us take to the woods lest we miss 
Of making the most of Hfe and its kiss!" ' 

"I shall not stir," came the sharp quick word 

For sudden shock, 
As if a soul's very voice were heard 

In some solid rock ! 
"Make you the most of it, my friend. 
But I do not stir from this carriage-end!" 

"Ah so!" said he. "Then take you my word 

For lordly true : 
If you will not stir, then you shall be stirred, 

Shall be forced to do 
My will, for I am master by right 
Of my ripe red heart and your lips in sight ; 



Know Thy Phyllis 405 

"For look — refuse to go with me now 

To yonder wood 
Where the owl keeps watch through his cedar bough 

While the quail is wooed, 
And by my stars in yonder dome 
I leave you here and you foot it home!" 

"Oh, well, if you put it so, why so," 

She replied, 
"There 's only for me to yield and go, 

Power 's on your side ! 
Foolish it were that I try to do 
Other than follow and fellow you!" 

So said, my gentleman now leaps out, 

Will hitch his horse. 
Never the trifle end of a doubt 

She means, of course. 
To follow close to his beck and hail 
As now he climbs for the martingale, 

When — sudden-sharp as a flash. 

Whip once in hand, 
Both reins she plucks and is off at a dash 

He could understand. 
While by the stars in yonder dome 
There my rare gentleman footed it home! 



ESTO PERPETUA 

The blind can feel their way, 

And 'though I could not see, 

Somehow I felt she cared for me 

That long autumn-field day 

I waited to know what she would say 

Of my heatherbell, 

Of my bosom-spell 

Of thought for her — well, 

I waited so long — she said she would come — 

Quail and cricket put pipe and drum 
To the wind to get their bubble-hum 

Quite as if they knew she would come 
And I could wonder and keep dumb — 
There I waited now 
By her olive-bough, 
Wondered when and how 

She would come. I know how you think, 

How only what I may see or touch 
Makes this life I have worth a wink, 

And so you value it for much 
Just by your swallow of sight and touch, 
For the tripe you bite. 
For your drink of light. 
For the sign in sight ! 
406 



Esto Perpetua 407 

But why not this other thinking too : 

Flesh and blood make the least of you, 
Puff and smut and beast of you, 

While what is of you for best, 
Great heart, deep spirit, and the rest, 
Keep dodging your clutch 
And sight and touch 
And prison-hutch. 

Soul is not tied to a tree. 

Nor more is it tied to you, my friend. 
Looks to more to breathe and be, 

Is not concerned about any end, 
Only this wisdom to comprehend: 
To be what is great. 
And at any rate 
To dare any fate! 

Somewhat such way I was thinking then. 

Was catching at flower-spikes where they grew 
Lilliputian patch-wings in blue, 

Quite that way I was thinking, when 
Far beyond me my chorus- wren 

Seemed to make his bed 
In the overhead 
Where the sun was red. 

In such a deep cloud where he flew. 

Gold and emerald 'round him grew 
Till he grew gold and emerald too, 

Took what was fine of the sky, 
Saffron to azalia dye. 

Coiled his lofty scroll 
'Round the purple pole 
Like a flight of soul ! 



4o8 Esto Perpetua 

Came he so sailing along, 

Wing put out like a timid hand 
As if to feel of such new cloud-land 

If he might light on the silver prong, 
Drop me his world of perfect song 
As I looked his way. 
Watched him rise and play 
In his pompous day. 

Saw he was aiming to come to me, 
For sooner than I could think 
There he hung in my olive-tree, 

All the while like a tiny link 
Between his sky overhead and me, 
And as if to say 
I should have my play 
At his sky one day. 

There now there lay at my feet 

One small garden-bed which grew 
Clethra in meadowsweet 

Where she lay whom I once knew 
To be so sweet and perfect too! — 
There my wren had dropped 
Where her flowers were propped 
And his song was stopped; 

Kept his hold, and he would not stir 

From his flower he held to above her head, 
While I thought, could it be the soul of her 
Come again to be with the dead. 
To show to me there 
How her soul was fair 
As my bird in air? 



Esto Perpetua 409 

Then off again to his sky 

To prove to me soul is high, 
Two souls in one, just she and I, 

To point me the way she went, 
Bright Heaven above it bent 

For my endless Flight 

Where the way is Height, 

Where the gain is Might. 

Could I be waiting for her? — my wren 
Sang never and never again ! 
Emerald and gold in apogee 

Pointed where she waited for me! 
All power is to reach to to be 
Was the thing I said 
As the dawn grew red 
Just above her bed. 



A ROBBER 



Give us a breeze, you pulpitarian, 

Of your second century thought ! 
Tell us how you laid your plan 

So you whistled and God wrought! 
Tell us what you gain by bringing 

Man to his knees, to qualm-singing, 
To bondage of thought, your under-study 

To swallow your clap-trap of luddy-fuddy! 
Will you, by squatting at an altar. 

By poking your head in a halter, 
Think to please any God? 

Will you look up to whine 
From a lap you call divine? 

Will you look up to wheedle, 
Will you look down to tweedle 

With the God's mightiness in you. 
Try to doubt of your power to grow 

The way the universes go. 
Build you your kind of God for master 

That shall put you fast in plaster, 
To not be what you nature to be, 

Part of that same divinity 

To not whimper, to not be cowed, 

But high God-like, soul-endowed 
To put force against force to do 

What is noblemost of you 
410 



A Robber 41 i 

By free play and a free hand, 

All your power at your command, 
No underdom, nor any knuckling 

To Power, nor any truckling 
To any God for favor. 

For fear, no hand to quaver. 
But force-foremost to make of you 

Match- work to yonder gold S.nd blue? 
To please a God you shall be a God 

Out to the rounded period! 
But Gods ne'er worship, they only love. 

Which is God-fashioned great enough 
For man, his love to be great 

As love is, he to mould his fate 
To overpower and dominate 

What Powers are lined against him ; 
Man to be — see my truth is this — 

Great as all greatness in him is 
To climb to his best and most 

For not a thought of God or Ghost, 
But only for love of what 

Makes for power in the soul of him 
To capture the highest whole of him. 

He to be ever mastered not. 
He his own God and soul and thought! 

Wherefore do men love to be unsouled. 

To be God-governed and so controlled 
They shall bend double to break in two 

As wind-swept grasses do? 
Shall man ne'er play the man, 

Shall man ne'er play the God 
To all utmost in him he can. 

Nor humble him a grunt or a nod? 



412 A Robber 

God rules your world, you say, 

So you noodle and pray, 
Nor see all iron Law there to rule it — 

Snub you the Law once, try to fool it 
And you trap one fact, my king- word true: 

Wrong 's to righten, there 's a thing to do 
Will let you think a thing or two ! 

Not down to your knees 

Any God to please, 
But high as your meridian, 

You for masterpiece, God and man 
To grow to more soul to see 

Life 's beyond life eternally. 



In Lombardy this tale is told, 

And the tale is old, 
Yet everywhere to me and you 

Truth is both old and new, 
So right it is I give it you 

For the way it is told 
For solemn true. 

Once in one swamp-side hut 

Lived a robber, and but 
For what cute cunning he took 

To dodge your dog and my hook, 
The jail-bells had been ringing. 

The hangman had had him swinging; 

A robber rough uncouth. 
Bold-eyed from youth. 



A Robber 413 

The claw-foot of a cat, 

Born to bite his way like a rat, 
Nor good he meant to any, 

But meant he wrong to many. 

In among his mountains — 

They send their trees like fountains 
Of flowers to a yellow blow 

Of dew-drop in aloe glow — 
He is driven to the valley-flap-end 

For refuge, and never a friend 

Nor rest — each way he is hurled 

As dust is blown about the world, 

Yet drops back again to earth 

To prove you the dust has worth — 

Slinked to wince like a mariput 
For fear in his mud-heap hut. 

People came and went 

Ever the world over so, 
Nor thought to meet his grapplement 

And club, to take his blow. 
To feel his fingers at their throat 

To pinch their breath out and last groat. 

Now is a morning of spring; 

The wheatear, just for love of the thing. 
Sends his song to a pinnacle-ring, 

The place is wild in wild-flower braid 
As any Heaven could be made, 

The year is in dress-parade. 

"Now I have you in my hold" 

Shouts robber to Jew, "hands up. 



414 A Robber 

Unshovel your pockets of gold, 

Or dig your ditch to die like a pup 

And no quarter, this very spot," 

As he covers his man by threat and shot ! 

Small parleying of any sort ! 

Diplomatism is cut short 
For once for my roadside chap 

Stock still, his life in a trap. 
Nor more for him to do or know 

Than hand his gold out, whether or no. 

On goes the robber on his way, 

Thinks him rich and nought to pay, 
When, of a sudden, ahead 

Stalks a man, half alive, half dead. 
Lip unbottoned, step unsure 

As the face of him is white and poor, 

"Friend, but you look undone," 

Quoth the robber, "you look as one 

Unfed for this many a day, 

You in your pelt and rag-array, 

Inside out as your pockets. 

Your closing eyes in their sunken sockets. 

"Here, take this gold (and he gave him all), 
Have away to an inn to kill 

Fatted calf, stuff rib and caul. 

Line your hide to the ample fill 

To drive off wolf and cold. 

Make the most of this bag of gold!" 

Nor sooner said than he was gone ! 

At daybreak on the next day morn 



A Robber 415 

Our guest at the inn is taken 

For having, just the day before, 
Robbed the Jew of his gold in store 

— What Law could be mistaken? — 

Are there not strapped to his loins. 

By careful count, just the number of coins 

Our Jew has lost to a louis d'or 

In the same spot on the day before? 

What more 's to make a question of? 

There 's all proof and perfect enough ! 

Months have gone their certain way 

Till now there comes a day 
My man is brought to court to say 

Wherefore he should not be sent 
For life to damned imprisonment 

For looting with hell's intent! 

All goes against him, to wit. 

The Jew's gold, every louis of it 
Found on him, he himself found 

At the same hour plump on the ground 
Where such rough pillage was done — 

What could be clearer below the sun? 

Now is the Court about to say 

Sentence on him the down-hill way, 

When, ere the word could be said, 

Like as one just come from the dead, 

Bold as Truth to the last resort, 
t Stands the robber there pat in court: 

"I 'm your man! Free that man there! 
Never he robbed the Jew a hair, 



41 6 A Robber 

But I, I plundered this Jew 

As God lives and the truth is true, 

As there, he stands to tell you how 

He knows me and my mask on now ! 

"Came this poor devil to a stop; 

I could ne'er stand to see him drop 
And my pouch bellied with gold, 

He on his way to wolves and cold ! 
Even so, as there he stands poor and pale, 

By Heaven he shall not go to jail!" 

So took the sentence himself, half deserved, 
Nor whined, nor any little swerved. 

But bold as Truth as he said it. 

And this Truth stands there to his credit, 

As just you look the world over again : 

There 's greatness in all kinds of men ! 

A quoddy in a pool of sea. 

So your blinded parson schools, 
Thinks by blinking he shall see 

How a God in a pike's eye rules, 
How a leek to the sky inclines, 

How a soul in a thistle shrines. 
How a soul in a robber shines ! 

Yet see — beyond your cream of belief 
God dartles in a vulgar thief 

To lift him high above you, 
You and your Heaven and Hellibeloo! 



BOUNTIFUL CANNY'S GRANDDAUGHTER 
FROM DULL MOOR 

Hostess. 

Ah, so! From Dull Moor! 
Canny's daughter, 
The wool-sorter 
And sample boor! 
Honored, I vow, 
To see you now ! 
But who asked you come 
To my kettledrum? 
Or what will it hint 
And you have a squint 
At my guests inside 
Who know your hide 
Under that streak 
Of paint at your cheek. 
Under that spinet 
Of hustled hair. 
Ribbons to pin it, 
Fly-combs in it 
Like a county fair? 
This is nor day, 
Nor this the hour 
You to have play 
With people of power, 
417 



41 8 Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 

Your banner hair 
In the wind to sigh 
As if soul were there 
In the mottled dye, 
Beauty to spare 
In frock and eye ! 
You know your place 
In the world outside, 
So why this face 
Of painted pride 
To storm my door, 
You of Dull Moor? 

Guest. 

Scarce was needed an invitation that I come 

To your kettledrum, 
I the granddaughter of Bountiful Canny the First 

Who did his worst 
To do his first in the world in this generation 

Of pompous nation, 
Successfullest Canny, my great-grandfather for sure, 

My Prince of Dull Moor! 

Hostess. 

Better you hang outside 

Where the world is wide; 

Like enough my narrow gateway 

Will not broaden to your great way, 

Nor yet to your great name. 

To your kin you claim ! 
Have you thought ever how wide 

Is the world outside? 



Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 419 
Guest, 

And did you once ever stop short to think, 

By way of surprise, 
What power there is couched in a buffle's wink 

To shut out the skies, 
How the thin-ended toe of a coot will put 

A whole earth under foot? 
See where the brush of a shadow will sweep 

The wild world into sleep. 
How a throstle's eye in a moment's run 

Swallows the sun ! 
Little is much in the world sometimes, 

As there are your chimes, 
And now they thrash out a song for joy. 

Shout the birth of a boy. 
Or again they solemn to cry instead 

Their sob for the dead. 
Little is much, while as often much is small 

Or as nothing for all 

You know or think. 
So have an eye to the buffle's wink ! 

Hostess. 

Your meaning is little plain. 

Your purpose unexampled vain, 
My kettledrum the town's centre, 

So on you berattle 
Your twittle-twattle. 

But you shall not enter! 
You have my word beside 

That the world is wide, 
Your world outside ! 



420 Bountiful Canny' s Granddaughter 

Guest 

So ! Yet here is my view 

To be looking through : 
Littleness counts a count or two, 

Since littleness is divine, 
Far as I may see, 

In the eye of a jacobine, 
In the foot of a bee — 

So what of you, or what of me. 
Or what of what you do, 

And there the microbe will bore you through? 
In littleness is greatness over all, 

Power to the fly-bite and there is no small. 
There is how I am come 

To your kettledrum. 
Mostly to show to you 

'Tis superabundant true. 
This thing I know by my Canny view. 

Hostess. 
And your meaning? — 

Guest. 

Is easy gleaning : 

See — this locket — how small, 
Scarce the biilk of a rifle-ball. 

Yet the tiny modest thing 
Has pluck, has a rifle's ring. 

Has a will, makes open and shut, 
Has knowledge, is full as a nut — 

For now I open it — look. 
How it opens like a book 



Bountiful Canny' s Granddaughter 421 

To show you, just inside, 
My mother's look before she died — 

Your mother too — her last smile 
With me everywhere, every while ! 



She married a year after your father died — 

You were jostled aside 
The Ash Wednesday night I was born — it was said 

At the time you were dead. 
You of an age, I will say, four and ten. 

Knew nothing of men — 
Your mother my mother, and soon she died, 

I the child at her side. 
Always she held to it you were dead. 

So loved me instead. 
Gave me her heart, her blessing beside 

That day she died. 
Gave me this locket, while just inside it, 

As if to hide it. 
Her face was tucked like a wren in a nest, 

Her last bequest 
Of her sweet look, and she circled the chain 

'Round my neck, as again 
And again she charged that I keep it there 

In my breast, nor dare 
Unchain it ever — that way have I kept. 

If I woke or slept. 
Her image and wishes and all the rest 

In my sorrow-breast. 
One week to a day just after she died 

My father died too; 
They bundled me off to a countryside 

To where I grew 



422 Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 

Among those who knew not the whence I came, 

Nor my race and name, 
Knew nought of me then, save only this, 

It was hit or miss 
By chance in my life, nothing for sure, 

Only forfeiture 
Of parent and friend and land in fee 

Now I grew to be 
Girl enough in the world to be known 

For being alone, 
None to care in the whole world wide 

If I lived or died. 

Up I grew in a careless way, 

None to courage me or to say 
But I could sprout in my ditch and way, 

Take the rough of it at loose ends. 
Take kick and cuff and no amends — 

I could whistle for luck or friends! 
Now came Canny the wool-sorter, 

Choice Canny aloof. 
Adopted me for granddaughter. 

Took me under his roof, 
Made much of me, and his lamb-like touch 

Of kindness was such 
I could not know him for any other 

Than father and brother. 
The two in one — so much was he soulful 

To see me doleful. 
My way of life he made over new 

And joyful too 
As a song-swallow dances in the dew. 

Once I asked him why he thought of me, 
Made aught of me: 



Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 423 

Only he said, in a moment's pause, 

He knew how it was. 
This being left in the world to be grown 
' Wholly alone. 
Not so much as the nod of a friend, 

Nor means to an end 
But the single self in him to fight 

For his share of Might — 
So was he sorry to see me so, 

See the way I must go, 
So took me to him, and I was his child, 

I laughed when he smiled, 
I joyed and I grew from that day on 

As his flower in the sun. 

What a thing to be 
Kind and true as glee! 
What a power to do 
Your strongest in you 
For the good of men, 
For sake of what 
Is reckoned not 
Gluttonous gain, 
But only to know 
How the woi"ld is so 
You shall have control 
Of life and soul 
By your noble view, 
By your good in you. 
By your good you do! 

As if by the awkward pitch 

Of fortune out of a ditch 
Canny grew always rich, 



42 4 Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 

Rich in great man-heartedness, 
Be the profit more or less, 

Rich to imtnatchable true, 
Unegoed and great he grew 

As ever this world dreamed or knew — 
Always his kind cottage door, 

Always his little store 
Free to you or to me. 

Life as hard as life could be, 
His life, while yet how he toyed 

With his ugly fate. 
How he was overjoyed 

Of such superhuman state 
To know his life grew not in vain, 

To know he could do his most 
And not a thought of what he lost. 

Nor any hope of any gain ! 
Kind Canny, and now gone, and yet part 

Of this my everlasting heart ! 

By such a strange way I was tossed 

Aside and lost; 
With Canny were refuge and pottage 

In his hungry cottage, 
Where I was lost sight of and not heard of, 

Never a word of 
Who I was, whence I came, 

What my name — 
The while you prospered and were known. 

Came to your own. 
Was heir to your mother, took what she left, 

While I was bereft, 
And so you came forward in the world. 

Were diamonded, pearled. 



Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 425 

As now at the street-edge bubbles the hum 

Of your kettledrum, 
And you the Lady of Karat Block 

In your orange frock, 
Your fingers in thimbles of silk, 

Your world of that ilk, 
You to the front and upward pitch, 

I to my ditch ! 

One thing strange in the way was this: 

Never I could unlock this locket — 
There it shut like a ledge's pocket 

As life went on to jump amiss, 
While do my best to coax or knock it. 

By no cunning could I unlock it. 
Years go by, page upon page, 

I come to my ripened age, 
I find in the world my place 

By Canny, yet not a trace 
Of her sweet woman-face 

This locket has held since she died, 
And I there crooning at her side. 

Sudden one day, shortly ago, 
Now I toyed with the locket, playing 

The cheeks between my fingers, so, 
Chain and locket lightly swaying 

As I have done these forty j^^ears, 
One spring I touched I knew not of, 

Just a touch was sign enough, 
When it opened, like two flaps of ears — 

What 's inside it? Now look, 
See what is fast in the tiny nook. 

One smallest wad of paper, 
Your human destiny-shaper, 



426 Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 

A will — her last testament — 
Your Mother's will — that I meant 

When I said it could be shown 
This locket has a will of its own ! 

Hostess. 
My Mother's will? 

Guest. 

As Hf e leaps and death is still ! 
She now believing you to be dead, 

For so it was said, 
Gave everything — there you may read and see — 

Everything to me. 
Her manor and all her heap of gold 
i To have and to hold 
To my own use of it for ever, 

Nor thought of you ever 
As being anywhere left alive 

In the world to strive. 
But only of me she thought, and so. 

As now you may know. 
She gave her share of this world to me, 

As you read and see ! 
All you now have of castle or land 

Falls to my hand, 
Your pot of gold down to each trinket! 

Who would think it, 
I, the castaway of Dull Moor, 

Now rich and you poor! 
I that was lost, I that am found, 

Now wait to be crowned 
Mistress of chance, queen of the dance! — 

Is it not curious circumstance? 



Bountiful Canny 's Granddaughter 427 

Hostess. 

Yet are we sisters — is 't not so? 

Will you cast me to the world away 
As you were cast once, nor care to know 

If I prosper any day, 
Nor take of me a thought 

If I dwindle and prosper not? 
What was mine is now yours, as I see — 

Will you, then, snatch all my world from me? 

Guest. 

Your one way of life you know, 

To hold what you have, nor let go 
The scrub-end of it, but only to hold 

To your trinkets, your fathom of gold: 
More than this ever have you learned 

Among your pleasant ways you turned 
And pitiness withered and heart died 

Of too much sun? Will my cyclamen blow 
In only the sunny side, 

Never a cloud? That much I know 
By my way I was meant to go 

To get the storm-side of life, 
To value the value of strife. 

I learned love of Canny, 

By his love I grew; 
His richnesses were many, 

So was he kind and true 
As his pickings were poor 

By the ditch of Dull Moor, 
Till I saw what is great 

Does not come of your state 



42 8 Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 

Of lushes you thrive in, 

Your castle you hive in, 
But will wrestle alone 

As a flower on the throne 
Of its purple cone 

Will angle to pitch 
White stripes from a ditch. 

Canny gave me love, 
Which was riches enough ; 

Gave me power to do 
My whole life through 

What is strong and true — 
So here 's my hand to you 

And my heart to you 
And my soul to you, 

As all I have is yours 
More than it is mine — 

Do I count soul by scores, 
Are ducats divine? 

Together are we 
In eternity 

Sisters forever, 
This world never 

To hang between us — 
Just my love shall unscreen us! 

My love I got of Canny 

I give it all to you; 

Hard knocks are many, 

Kindnesses few; 

My life I give to live it, 

My life I live to give it, 

All of it to you. 

All my gold-heap too! 



Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 429 

Life has spirit in it, 
There 's the thing in view 
And never in sight, 
I to work to win it 
By Majesty of Right! 
Let the way be rough, 
Love is enough ! 

And now may I come 
To your Kettledrum? 



MABEL MAPLETON 

Take love one way or another, 

Love of sweetheart or only brother, 
Love of the roundest tapered arm 

Or kind lip of spirit-charm, 
Whether I long for one breast-embrace 

Or to look just into some soulsome face, 
Love is love, no matter the name, 

The world over and ever the same. 

But which way soever soul be gloved. 

If cat-pawed or manned or doved, 
Somewhat there must be to be loved. 

Somewhat to bring you too 
To comprehend how love is true 

Beyond the knowledge or will of you, 
How it will come without your call 

While you may not know you love at all. 

Under her hill in her bramble-patch 

My girl-friend lived — I have heard her say 
She loved her life her cottage-way 

She lived, loved the yellow thatch — 
Each footprint of each throstle-jay 

She knew, knew his time of day 
He took to unbottle his best 

Wild song just to be her heavenly guest. 
430 



Mabel Mapleton 431 

So well I knew her, she would say 

Her heart to me, tell me each day 
Each little thing she wrought or thought 

Righted her or righted her not, 
Her small cares, her largest hopes 

The way a young girl grieves and gropes 
To try to compass each doll-dream end, 

While so I grew to be all her friend. 

How now I think how we would sit 

By her door of an evening, she to tell 
What she did that day so well, 

What the wonderment of it 
To think she could do her best 

Her girl-way and never a thought 
Of an atom of gain to be got 

But soul, which was gaining on its nest. 

Soon came her hour to love, so now 

She knew she loved her city-man 
Of perfect gait, of angle-bow, 

Outwardness plummet-spick and span, 
He of the cue-cut scallopy plan. 

Of glassy boot, as if to incline 
Her thinking so she should divine 

He meant one end of him should shine. 

So too he took pretty ways. 
Could jingle-tinkle her praise 

Bell-pot manner, the love he felt 
By no means thicker than his pelt. 

While so he would coil and prance 
To toss her his chipmunk glance 

To dazzle — just boot and shin 
Were masterpieces, sure to win. 



432 Mabel Mapleton 

By what she saw of him the more 
She loved him — never before 

Grew man that perfect — there looked his tie 
The round tint to match her eye, 

Each elbow-dip of little passes 
Sweet was and smooth as new molasses, 

He talented, as this world goes. 
To tickle fortune by his toes. 

The other, his rival, was otherly made. 

Had a slowness to press his claim, 
Half-spoken, would take to the shade 

Of quiet merit, nor thought of fame 
Or fortune, thought only to do 

His most in the world, manful-true 
To what was noblest in him, by which 

He grew greatness and spirit-rich. 

Rather than force himself forward he 

Would keep his soul-ground, would yield his place 
To the other — for that cause she 

Saw never what man-hearted grace. 
What temple of Heaven was in his face. 

What there was of him to be. 
So missed the soul in him, and so 

Was now about to let him go. 

Was about to take her city-prize. 

Mostly for his boots and eyes. 
For life-mate, when next I drew 

Her thought to the other, how he was true 
As stars are, who played his part 

Of strong soul and gentle heart, 
Not so much to win 

As to stand man-like through thick or thin. 



Mabel Mapleton 433 

Could she love a man, she said, 
Just because he was true or great? 

Love is perverse, will not be led, 
Will hold to its course at any rate 

For love only, not for the sense 
Of soul which a man may claim, 

Since love is all its own recompense, 
Is scarcely more than a name 

For keen reasonless passion 

Which pants to break into storm. 
One wild whim, ever out of fashion 

Since ever refusing to conform 
To any way which is best, 

Starving to be put to the test — 
So she would love her man for what 

He lacked most, accomplished not ; 

Would love him for his puky wit, 
For just his way he took to spit — 

Grew he one wart to his nose, 
She should call it her Bourbon-rose, 

Die for love of it, God knows! 
How to talk to her I knew 

Quite as little as do you 
How to make a cipher two. 

This much she would say of the other: 
He was not more to her than brother ; 

Kind goodness, nobleness were his. 
Fine as the dew-dahlia is; 

Kept the courage of his kind, 
Heart and soul and truth of mind, 

Yet be what he might, her heart was so 
She could not love him, whether or no. 



434 Mabel Mapleton 

Mark how little she knew 

Her heart the while it grew 
Wider and deeper too, 

For next day only it was said 
He whom she could not love was dead — 

Gone of an instant, like as men drop 
Out of season — gone is the prop 

Before there comes once a thought to stop ! 

Death opens eyes, opens hearts. 

Has a new world to reveal — 
Now she could see and feel 

How soul clings when body departs, 
How the best of you will sleep 

Only that it may grow 
Sun behind clouds that weep. 

For love will have it so. 

Now he was gone she could see 

What breath was his supremacy 
Of great heart, handsome soul. 

Saw the light in him and whole 
High hope and purpose of power 

For noblemost in his life of an hour — 
Came to her now his noon-high smile. 

How he loved her so all the while, 

Till there her true heart opened out. 

She could see no other about 
Save him who was borne away 

To yonder corn-colored violet day — 
She found love in her, found what grew it 

Was love in him — there 's my rhyme: 
She loved him and never knew it, 

Loved him all the time. 



AFRAID OF ME? 

This tree has a robin-top 

Of so many birds 

Of such singing words 
And not a thought of them to stop, 

I thought and I said, Why may not I 
Perch where they perch in the tree-leaves high? 

"Yes," but I said, "they will fly away 
Once they hear my human notes I play!" 

"Ah, but I sing truth," I said, 

And the truth is fine 

As their columbine 
Or any lip of orange-red. 

While song is only the single touch 
Of Beauty, and so the case is such 

I sing truth like my birds in their glee, 
So why should they be afraid of me?" 

They sing their way as I mine, 

So what of the art 

Or pleasure-part 
So they point aloft to a thing divine 

Above human, and so above art. 
One bursting forth of one mighty heart 

Too full to keep, like sun in a gem, 
So why should I be afraid of them? 

435 



436 Afraid of Me? 

As there they are free to sing, 

Each heart to his choice 

Of bells for voice, 
Yet I tied down to rope and ring 

To beat the bars of this cage of thought, 
Nor higher than the cage is wrought. 

Small wonder, if once they look to see, 
They should be so afraid of me ! 

So came one over-blue day 

Of such amber sun 

As is overrun 
By not a cloud — I took my way 

To my robin- top tree, for just there 
Each bird was tossing his song in air 

Till I would think, nor chance to choose. 
The inside soul of sweet Heaven was loose. 

High in my tree I was now, 

My birds were flown, 

I there alone 
To send my song from this elbow-bough ! 

They would come again, my robins would, 
For I sing only my new other mood. 

Which is truth, my truth in melody, 
So why should they be afraid of me? 

Yet sing as I would my best, 

Never bird would come 

To my gladsome hum 
To take my truth, to be my guest — 

Afraid of me, 'though I whistle truth. 
As if I were only claw and tooth. 

And I my own unique-minded glee — 
Why should they be so afraid of me? 



Afraid of Me? 43 7 

Right as I lounged in my bough 

To hark to each wheeze 

Of lullaby-breeze 
Which makes such music, none knows how, 

Just at the foot of the tree there came 
My Eunice, youth in her cheek for flame. 

Begged me I come down out of my sky 
Now day was gone and the winds would die. 

"Not so," said I, "but do you 

Climb up to me here 

Where sight is clear 
And I have much the larger view 

To round my truth to each rounded sky; 
My look is off as my perch is high. 

More I may compass the sky around 
Than you shall get in your grubbish ground." 

"Too high for me," she would say, 

Such unstable top 

And I see it lop 
Like an ear too tired to hear you play! 

Not used am I to your lookout there 
Of such countless suns in such boundless air. 

So I should be afraid to look 
Beyond my Pequot-pasture brook." 

"Afraid of me too, my friend, 

'Though I sing how truth 

Keeps an endless youth. 
And you fear to look where there is no end, 

'Though I sing in these champak leaves 
Which drop such rain-gold off the eaves! 

Is it because of my light to see 
That you should be so afraid of me? 



438 Afraid of Me ? 

"Come to my bough in this tree 

For such light as is here, 

For such look-out clear — 
What harm shall come if you look to see? 

More are you than my birds which are gone, 
More too than any sky-top dawn. 

More is always to look to to be. 
So why will you be afraid to see? 

"Truth holds no harm for you here, 

'Though you give your youth 

To your love of truth ! 
Nought which is noble has aught to fear. 

So hold to one truth, which is this : 
Yonder sky is no precipice 

Down which to tumble — that much I see, 
So why this fear of eternity?" 



ENDLESSNESS 

Come to see the river, 
Little giri, 
Half a-quiver, 
All a-whirl ! 
What a way- 
It takes to play 
To be clever, 
Comes and goes 
As the snows, 

Yet the end of it is never! 

Have a look to watch it 

For a while, 

Every crotchet 

Like a smile, 

Every rimple 

Makes a dimple 

Deep as ever 

Where it purls, 

Spreads and furls, 
Yet the end of it is never! 

Look to how my garden 
Comes and goes. 
Tucks a nard in 
Or a rose 

439 



440 Endlessness 

For a season 
And no reason 
But to scatter 
Pink and sweet, 
Life complete, 
4 And this dying cannot matter. 

A linnet in his clover 

For a song 

Sings it over 

Twice as long 

As his glottis 

Or his thought is, 

Whistles more 

For me to quote. 

Note by note, 
Than his Hfe he has in store. 

What is there to capture 
In a day 
But the rapture 
Of his lay 
As he bubbles 
Above troubles 
High and strong, 
Never sighing 
At this dying. 

For his sighing is his song. 

You are very little, 
Little girl; 
Life is brittle 
As a pearl; 
I am older. 
Stronger, bolder 



Endlessness 441 

Than you ever, 
Yet the thyme is 
More than time is, 
Like the end of love is never. 

Just a Httle waiting 

I will do 

To be mating 

Yet with you! 

You shall learn to 

Pulse and burn too 

In a while. 

For this truth is 

Young as youth is: 
Love goes never out of style. 

What if there be ages 

Yet ahead, 

Endless pages 

To be read. 

Shall I lessen 

By my lesson 

In the end? 

How I smallen 

And have fallen 
To gain a world and lose a friend! 

You shall come to soul me 
By and by. 
Come to dole me 
Lap of sky, 
As I fashion 
Love, not passion, 



442 Endlessness 

Makes for power, 
Makes for master 
And long-laster, 
More than spousals of an hour. 

I can wait the ages 
Yet for you; 
Love engages 
What is true, 
And my truth is 
More than youth is, 
More to be. 
More to go to 
And to know too, 

You to one day come to me. 

Come to see the river 
Made of showers, 
See it quiver 
Into flowers! 
There it ranges. 
Chops and changes 
All as ever, 
As this love does, 
Soul above us. 

Yet the end of it is never. 



IN A MIRROR 

How long ago was it? — one moment : 
I took a day to dodge the foment 

And kick of the world ! 

Old Lantern Hill was a place to see, 

Dew was ripe, sea-swallows whirled 
In the wing for free. 

Such a blue sky above head was now 
As to put me asking when and how 

I could be there too 

To look up always from high to higher, 

Become one part of the blazing blue 
Deep wonder entire. 

Brilla was there at my side her way. 
Half between seriousness and play 

As a sweet girl will. 

Now at her glee, then again thinking 

Life is more than this daffodil 
Pinking and winking. 

Brilla was all of my world to me! 

We took the hill in hand just to see 
How the world below 

Must look, and we so above in air 
As to see far down and to never know 

Fribble or care. 

443 



444 In a Mirror 

Up we went, by the longest way too, 
While steep it is as I ever knew. 

Yet wonder to tell, 

Never we turned once nor took one stop 

Till we were where the white winds yell 
At the bull-horn top. 

You know old Lantern Hill how it is, 

One perpendicular precipice 
One side, one straight ledge 

Clean cut down to the lake below. 
Plunging in deep at the water's edge 

As the waters go! 

Down we sat at the very top, 

Glad of such certain cocklofty prop, 

I close to her side 

To watch her soft-shell cap of red. 

Her rose-look in which I took such pride, 
Or her hand instead. 

How now she twined her fingers in mine 

As wine-flowers cling in their knuckled vine 

And I drew her to me. 

Put her sweet face to my heart my way 

Till I thought my love of her would undo me 
That wonderful day! 

I pointed high in the sky above. 

So many worlds to be thinking of. 

Yet never is one 

For man, I said; he is under the sky, 

So like all things under the sun. 
Meant only to die. 



In a Mirror 445 

"You do not mean so, "she said, "I know, 
For see the lake how it has such glow 

Like a plate of glass 

To take a print of the whole wide sky 

And will not let a little cloud pass 
Or moon go by ! 

"The sky you see in the lake down there 
Is each way perfect and all as fair 

As is overhead. 

So, if the truth of things be given, 

Man, in spite of his narrow bed, 
Is surcingled by Heaven. 

"Overhead or under water there 

Just one Heaven is everywhere, 
Is about you too 

Each any way you shall try to see, 
So how will you escape from such blue 

Bright eternity?" 

How long ago! How life goes by! 

How could I think she was meant to die 
So soon, so young, 

Her red cheek of the cardinal flower, 
Her way she visioned and loved and sung 

In her morning hour? 

I look down from the same spot still 

Into her blue lake under the hill 
To find, shall I say, 

Only the star-fields mirrored there 
And she gone, she who was more than they 

By soul so fair? 



446 In a Mirror 

But not so far away is she gone 
Soon as I take to thinking on 

How she spoke that day: 

Man has about him all Heaven in touch, 

Which is Beauty at eternal play, 
While Truth is such 

As Beauty is, each is here to stay, 
And so I carol and keep my way 

Since this much I know: 

She was one part of one perfect whole, 

So, whichever way I choose to go, 
Her high bright soul 

Still stays, as Beauty about me stays, 

For see how sky changes worlds and ways, 

Yet Beauty remains 

As does the glint in an eagle's quill, 

Whichever way the rachis trains. 
Barb-ends spill! 

The soul of her, such beautiful part. 
All there is of this mind and heart, 
Is by me as now 

I look down in the water-glass, > 
Or up through this sapodilla bough 

Where new clouds pass 

And stop again, to show me one law: 
Beauty is all they are making for. 

So I hold to this, 

The one thing first in the last I see: 

Beauty and Beauty make all there is 
To grow to to be! 



IN A DREAM 

Just a little book, 

Just a tiny leaf 

In a narrow nook 

And the tale is brief: 

Just a tiny book, 

But it held my hands 

Like a gullet-hook, 

As he understands 

Who knows the grip and neaf 

Of such tiny leaf. 

What a thing it is in the world to be free, 
How much it means in the end to me, 
Myself to completely be! 

Yet no self I saw 
Now the spotted claw 
Took hold like an asp. 
Kept its place and clasp 
At my throat and lung 
Just to tie my tongue 
So I should not speak 
Nor a thought should leak, 
I there for fact 
To be tricked and sacked ! 

A little more truth always waits to be known! 

How may I grow in your chancel-zone 

As I was meant to be grown? 

447 



448 In a Dream 

Such a dream I had, 
Such an ugly sight 
So hellishly bad 
Just the other night, 
I could not tell you 
The half, nor spell you 
One part of it true 
As the sick sight was 
Of a putrid blue 
In a dead man's claws ! 

One moment I ask for one proper full breath 
To tell you how near he is to death 
Who neither looks nor reasoneth ! 

In my soundest sleep 
This thought, all at once, 
Took my soul to keep : 
I was half the dunce, 
Could not think my wit, 
Knew less to say 
Than a parrot's twit, 
Than a muzzled jay. 
And the reason was, 
For I knew the cause — 

One moment, for I must pluck muscle to tell 
The terror of it and perfect hell. 

And my loss of myself as well — 

One monster white bug. 
Big as a crab. 
Took the whim to tug 
At my brain, to stab. 



In a Dream 449 



To suck my thought 
By his vampire-bite, 
To smother my lot 
And self out of sight 
By a single sting 
Of his poison wing, 
By his nasty strut 
In my soul and gut. 

There he lay at my brain at the dead of night, 

His wings were black, his body white, 

All only to suck and to bite. 

Not a jot I knew 
Of why he was there 
Now I slowly grew 
To less than a hair 
In the span of me 
Till the man of me 
Was weak, in the main. 
As my cry of pain, 
Was small, on the whole, 
As the spider's soul. 

What a terrible blame of life to incur 
That you, however you right or err, 
Have come to less than you were! 

Thought I this bug grew 

To know how to chew, 

Was all mouth too 

To open out wide 

Till I saw inside 

Black teeth there to grind 

On my soul and mind 



450 In a Dream 

As I felt their bite 
Between black and white 
In the dead of night. 

Take me to task, if you will, for my thinking 
Man is nobler rising than sinking, 
You at your altar-kinking ! 

Shall I once lose sight 
Of such bites and stings, 
Of such body white 
Between two black wings, 
All mouth open wide, 
Black teeth inside? 
Long as I live 
Shall I once forgive 
The thrust at my heart 
Of this devil's art? 



What is there left of a man to a pout, 

Less than a pimple-dot, do you doubt, 
And this self -soul of him left out? 

There now as I lay 
To think I was gone, 
Came the red end of day 
In painted dawn, 
Came a girl to my side 
So she touched my cheek — 
It was Truth, my bride, 
My power to speak 
A word for her sake 
And I was awake. 



In a Dream 451 

One touch of Truth and the world is awake 
To see and rise and undertake 

What is true for Supremity's sake. 

Just a fatted book 
Was the bug in sight, 
Was the thought I took 
And its poison-bite 
As I lay in sleep 
And my book in hand 
Forbade me to speak 
Or to understand, 
Save to sleep to reach 
What the teeth should teach. 

Have a way of seeing and all light will come ! 
No darkness Hke being deaf and mum! 

Gods there no God shall strike you dumb ! 



PAPER DOLLS 

I KNEW once a dozen city girls 

Bright and round as a string of pearls, 
Dancing eyes in dancing curls, 

Laughed as the sun in a river laughs, 
Open-handed, nothing by halves ! 

How the laugh of a dozen girls swells 
Into chime-song of marriage bells ! 

Light as air was the thought they had, 
Nothing good in it, nothing bad 

As words flew by the myriad 

To tune the wind, and I never heard 

More than the tickling silver word 

To tell how lightly soul may breathe 

If hearts tick nothing underneath. 

How should I but listen to their song 

Long as any day is long? 
How could there be any wrong? 

Shall I not hark to each lightest breeze 
Teaching language to the trees? 

I know the flicker of each leaf and love it 
For the nothing there is of it. 

Now the flap-end of a ruff 

Is pink, or shows a melted puff, 
Which is food for thought enough! 

452 



Paper Dolls 453 

A thing to aim to for noble place 
Is pomegranate leaf in Limerick lace, 

Shy slippers in rainbow green, 
Enough to talk of and be seen ! 

Do I not watch my tumble-bee bob, 

See him butt at his rose to mob 
The new pink, or hob and nob 

With sweet and turn himself twice over 
Pumping juice from his field of clover? 

So too I watch my dozen girls cheep 
And flutter in one honey heap. 

Comes now my Julie to find me there, 

Is jealous that I pay such care 
To such light girls, never spare 

One look to her if she amble by 
More than I see the perfect sky 

Which is so all 'round me so 
I have it if I look or no. 

"Ah," but she thought, "I 've a trick to trim! 

Why not I play paper-doll-whim 
Since the role so pleases him? 

Catch a man by the bait he likes, 
As you sniggle breams or pikes ! 

Here 's a girl dangles her ribbon-strings — 
He loves her for the silver wings!" 

Next day, now the sun was so high 

I missed my shadow's company, 
I thought me : What if I try 

To find my Julie — fate could not err 
If I could be the shadow of her! 

What is there in any darksome place 
To Hght you like the bright one face? 



454 Paper Dolls 

But where I looked I covild find her not; 

Was she hidden, had she half forgot 
My love of her was my only thought? 

Just where the sun in the city square purls, 
There she cheeped with my dozen girls 

To show her pill-dotted shawl, her gem 
Of jasper like any of them. 

She thought — you know how each new girl thinks 
You judge her by her prinks and blinks, 

Her wasp-waist or finger-links — 

She thought, once I looked to these girls, 

I loved their pompadour quirk of curls, 

So reasoned I must likewise love them, 

Each for the jacket of honeycomb hem. 

Up she stood in the midst of them all 

To talk me parrot-talk quite as small 

As sizzle in a tea-pot squall. 

As if to find, in the end, her man 

Mapped a sort of paper-doll plan 

Of his own, on which he was made — 

And so her pretty trap was laid ! 

"Ah," but I said, "you have found a way 
To speak less than your great eyes say 

By their down-deep spirit-play ! 

Or there is that plum-red in each cheek 

Like lips with more than they can speak! 
Or over all is the white high brow, 

Which thinks, as only I know how! 

Did you think I could not read below 

Makeshift or little pebble-show 
By what I see of you and know, 



Paper Dolls 455 

Such a spirit in such a wreath, 
Such wondrous great heart underneath 

In sky-pattern, gillyflower grace, 
As puts all fashion out of place? 

Let the world jump to its red and blue 

Bubble-fuss of ambigu, 
I claim just the heart of you. 

So well I know you among them all — 
Never true greatness seemeth small ! 

So put aside that green garnet star, 
I love you for only what you are ! 



PINK APPLE POINT 

Such another place one would not see by walks 

Where the peevish sea pouts or north wind stalks 
To try to run down a flock of hawks, 

Such a rare point of peculiar land 
Of shape quite of a kinkajou's hand, 

Head like a rock-onion, while out of the top 
Runs a light like an eye in a druggist-shop. 

One clear pink light, round as an apple. 
For keeping the whole coast in its grapple, 

While there as I look x could not tell you 
Half the heart of it or belle-view. 

This was the lighthouse I saw, 

Head up to Heaven, nor a flaw 
Had the eye of it more than a kohinoor; 

Fire was the warning it threw 
Across such big stomach of blue 

As sailors must duck to pay homage to. 

In the little lantern chamber at the top 

Sat a girl, and she would never leave the light 
While a single star above her tried to stop 

To look at her, like morning's second sight; 
Took her place there just at evening by the lamp 

As a gunner at his gun, so never knew 
What a pinch of sleep was or a camp 

While there were love and duty there to do; 
456 



Pink Apple Point 457 

Kept her watches all as long as any night, 

Kept the wild high ocean fountains full in sight — 

If any ship should happen to be losing 

Her course, or graze the bottom in her cruising. 

There should come a look of light to make it plain 
Not an eye is small enough to look in vain. 

Such a handsome girl is she, 

Leaps of spirit in her eyes, 
Words like bells of melody, 

Such a look of glad surprise 
For pleasure in every joint 

To see you at Pink Apple Point! 
At her lamp-light she will sit. 

Never gives the world a thought 
For the paltry praise of it. 

Hugs her narrow prison-spot. 
Hugs the pelted rays of it. 

Looks and lives there just alone, 
Sleeves put back for solemn care. 

Arms of alabaster bare, 
Brow of the spirit zone. 



Made for him the sweet girl was. 

Her sailor across the seas; 
Love makes always double cause. 

Fights to capture and please. 
He is gone and her heart will burn — 

Will he ever return? 
How she looks to the seas out there ! 

How they return her stare ! 
What is colder than a grave of brine, 

Or so bottomless and undivine 



45^ Pink Apple Point 

Till I stop to think: There 's one end, 

But there must be the other, my friend. 

Two ends to divinity, 

One dark end with not a spark 

Only to give me my chance to see — 
I dig for light through pits of dark ! 

Alone in her castle of fire 
She knew but the one desire 
To stand firm to her post, 
Do her best and most 
For love of Right 
All her might, 
While so 

She could be seen to come and go 
Once in every day or so 
For oil to keep her light 
Forever in sight, 
Made her way ^ 
Day and day 
To town. 

Never the thin end of a frown 
Even 'though her luck was down, 
As now it looked to be 
And her man at sea, 
Her lonely lot 
Now she thought 
Such life 

As hers made only hopeless strife, 
Never to be noble wife 
To him she loved, and so 
Days must come and go, 



Pink Apple Point 459 



Never an end 
Nor a friend — 
And yet 

One thing is never to forget : 
Purple hugs the violet! 
There is her heart to do 
To be greatly true 
For not a stain, 
Not a gain 
In view — 

So she shall wear the purple too! 
One brave true thing was to do, 
Nor to care what should come 
Of the hum and drum, 
Nor give a thought 
To her lot 
But this. 

To be true as the north star is, 

And what shall the whole soul miss 
Of all there is to think? 
I catch, by a wink. 
Millions of suns. 
And so runs 
My heart 

Always beyond the body-part 
And this little planet-chart 
To what is endless fair 
As the Dog-Star stare 
Of green and blue, 
Always new 
And true! 



460 Pink Apple Point 

One strange thing in her hfe was this: 

After dark there was never to miss 
One strange man, and he always came 

After dark to the Hghthouse steeple — 
Secret were his nature and name, 

None knew of him among the people, 
Only his purpose was to rapture 

The lighthouse girl so he could capture 
Heart and soul of her to make her his. 

So his after-dark plot was this. 
To bring her orange-tree flowers would scatter 

Their lips in her lap because he knew 
They spoke, with never word to flatter. 

What was sublime in her. One time too 
He brought her larkspur to try to match 

Her blue eyes, yet was never thinking 
What soul was there between the winking 

Which was not his, so he could not catch 
Her thought by his fascination-power, 

Nor touch her heart with one winter flower. 
Stood not her sailor on yonder sea! 

What counted these flowers, or any plea, 
And she star-pointer to see her way 

To her man across seas and away? 

What is it not my man will do 

To gain his point if he forget 
The Right of a thing is the Soul of it too 

To trip his trick and quodlibet? 

For who shall say he holds such power 

As will crush out Beauty, once he sees 

Green stripes which die in his faded flower 
Live in the stars and tumbling seas 



Pink Apple Point 461 

From which they came, so each soul flies 

To you or me to perch a while, 
Yet nests to breed where Beauty never dies, 

Nor soul is ever out of style? 

Thus this man thought he could have his way, 

His little way in his little day 
By force to bring her to his terms. 

And his way so small as the way of worms! 

Here was the month of June, 

She should marry him next day noon, 

Or by the light of the nightfall-moon 

She should be locked in her lantern-tower 

This very night and this very hour 

To know his will and his pinch of power! 

Oil in her lamp should sizzle down. 

The glass should crock as the light died out, 
She should no more make her way to town. 

His word for it, and not a doubt 
Her oil should fail, her lamp die out! 

Lives how many should be tossed 

Ashore, how many should be lost 
For not a light to be seen 

Where always a light had been 
In the lighthouse tower to save 

Sea-lords from their water-grave! 

"Point me to my honeymoon, 

Marry me to-morrow noon, 
You shall be free in return 

So your lighthouse light shall burn 
To leap, like a savior of men, 

To their rescue again and again I 



462 Pink Apple Point 

"Marry me not, then shall you stay 

Prisoner here many a day, 
The while any ship may dock 

Her load of souls in yonder rock 
And you no oil in your litter 

By which this lamp may spit and glitter. 

Enough said — she could not see 

Souls put in eternity 
For want of a handful of light ! 

Such was her kingdom of Right 
She should be brave to do 

What was noble of her through 
To misery in the last ditch — 

Right is always kingdom-rich. 

"Take me," she said, "I am yours 

To have for these few human hours 
Of life as you show it. 

As you value and I know it — 
To church to-morrow, my word 

I wed you at the noon-top hour 
My marriage-bells are heard — 

Am I not in your power, 
Goes there aught for me to do 

But pay my homage, sir, to you?" 

Next day at the altar they both stood: 
"Your name?" said the priest! 

"Donald Beltraven, or at least. 
So have I ever understood 

My name was — both parents died 
Ere I was old enough to know 



Pink Apple Point 463 

Names from knuckles, and beside, 

What 's in a name if poppies blow 
What 's in a name if I have the bride?" 

" Much in a name as a name is much, 

As see me put it to the touch," 
Said the priest, "now I ask her name 

For you to find it half the same 
As yours — Beltraven — I know you both — 

Celia Beltraven, as on my oath 
I christened each of you at this font 

As infants, as by common wont 
These parish records have nothing lacked — 

You are brother and sister for fact!" 

That night what shoots of fire put forth 

From the lighthouse east and north 
Like her heart leaped as if it would flee 

Over and over all the sea 
To one, her sailor, who was gone forth 

Into the whip of the seas, 
Into the black angry north 

To take his chance, like the rest of these — 
He has wandered away and away! 

Would he never come back one day? 

Another year you shall see them sitting 

Cottage-covered, next her pretty fire, 
Song-swallows in the roof are knitting 

Nests of sunshade in ivy wire. 
Her rye-field 'round her; her strong man. 

Now at his meridian, 
Now at the sea no more. 

Clasps her at their cottage door 
For love of her, while such light 



464 Pink Apple Point 

Comes from his eyes as she shall see 
Reckons with eternity — 

Her light she threw to him into the black 
She gets now and thousand-fold back — 

Always one step higher in sight 
As come the evening suns, 

Corvus falters, Auriga runs, 
While they look up and around. 

Watch each calycanthus grow 
Or sumac so they shall know 

Beauty is meant to leave the ground — 
There she shall live to love in sight 

Of one sea of eternal light — 
Mark the Royalty of Right! 

Oh, brother, there's the nature of things! 

See throughin and throughout it, 
As who shall doubt it, 

Right is a Kingdom if Men be Kings ! 



VALERIE FAY 

Only to think of it that she is dead, 

Laid cold and straight in her straight cold hall! 

A few slain flowers to droop about her head, 

A few slow hands to dress her bed. 

And of all that was once of her, this is all ! 

Only to think the days will come no more 

Just to knit narcissus in her cheeks; 

To put their purple bells against her door, 

Carol to her, o'er and o'er. 

Or catch the linnet listening when she speaks! 

You were young and quick at gain, Valerie Fay, 

Laying hold on your world with a will; 

A heart which was whole months of May, 

A soul to outwit the clay. 

And, lo, the warm wild breath stands cold and still! 

Young and quick at gain — you were very young, 

Loved him as only youth may love ; 

You thought the very soul was strung 

Along the treble of his tongue. 

You dreamed the rose he brought was love for love! 

Friends told how he was false as hollow chaflE 
In a puflE of wind to whine his cause; 
They wondered much how you could stoop to quaff 
The mockery of his shallow laugh. 
Nor see what lordly sham was all he was. 
.o 465 



466 Valerie Fay 

But here was truth — you loved — just that was all 
Of thought which drifted from heart to head; 
You would not hark to catch the louder call 
Of one who loved you most of all — 
My love was nothing to you, so you said. 

You loved him for yourself — such was enough : 
What mattered if he loved you not? 
What, too, 'though he were made of stuff 
Which underneath the mock was rough? 
Little hollow cares and soon forgot! 

Here is the law: Not for thyself alone, 
Not one half a step in life's few days! 
So wholly near together are we grown, 
Since Love once made the world his own. 
There 's just the step aside to wondrous maze. 

But just to think of it that she is gone, 

Gone out of my hopefullest young day ! 

Not another star is in yonder dawn, 

Nor other trust of earth to be born. 

For I loved you and loved you, Valerie Fay! 



NO DEATH 

Afraid of death, 
He who reasoneth? 

The arms of the skies 
Laid me in the grass; 
Soon I began to rise; 
Each day tried to pass, 
Yet came 'round to me again 
Till I learned joy and pain, 
Joy because it came, 
Pain because it went. 
One finger of flame 
Out of the firmament 
To point to me straight, 
To point always to me 
So I could wholly see , 
Power is far and great 
As eternity. 
Power to you. Power to me! 

What is the way of the world to go 

If all I am is what I know 
Of how balloon vines climb and blow? 

To-day are they white, another day red. 
And yet another and they are dead. 

Do I climb and I bloom to-day, 
467 



468 No Death 

And another day I call a halt, 

As if there were nothing more to say 

And I had no nobler game to play 

Than life at its little pufE of fault? 

You 've a way of thinking 

You are more than what 

Puts you snoozing, winking, 

Tickles rib or thought ! 

There 's your rare voice, mine 's the same, 

So hold you to it, play the game! 

He was my schoolfellow, he who died 

So young, while I was younger yet — 
Who is there ever could forget? 

We together so side by side. 
He of the great noble brow and eye 

Of such faultless beautiful gaze 
I knew spirit nested in his face. 

Something of him not meant to die. 
His hand in mine, and boy-like we galloped 

Across field — each wall was scalloped 
Ashes of roses, each we jack about 

Kept close quarters, hopped in and out, 
The titlark gave an after-shout 

Of rapture, whistle and gong, 
As if he plauded his own song^ 

On we rushed, all after nought 
But the rough wind in one butternut knot 

Of branches we mouth-watered for — 
How a boy's heart throbs in his craw! 

Flowers we gathered and gathered grasses — 
Time stays and life passes, 

Till soon, how soon I lost him — he went on 



No Death 469 

Before his May month was begun, 
Felt his way out and beyond me, 

Death unwilling to unbond me, 

And so I walk in my field alone 

To think this only: My friend is gone. 

Is he gone, my friend, 

And there the end 

Of what was incomplete, 

His days so new and sweet 

And yet not ended, 

Were scarcely begun 

To be comprehended 

Before they were done, 

As my eyes see it. 

This Hfe meant to be, 

He not meant to be it — 

Is that all I see. 

And so much of him there, 

More than is found 

In this pompous ground 

Or trunk of air? 

He went so soon, 
I stay so long ; 
Barely one June 
Had dropped its song 
Of the kingbird cry 
To tempt him to fly 
Ere he breathed to die! 
Do I wait for him. 
Does he wait for me? 
Comes time or limb 
Of infinity? 



470 No Death 

My life is incomplete 
Without his joys, 
His hands and feet 
My pretty toys, 
His cymbal voice 
On the trombone wind 
And I made my choice — 
Has the good God sinned? 

The child was he, and he died; 

The man am I, and I live on now; 
My life, therefore, is it so wide. 

And he of the noble eye and brow 
To compass such Beauty everyhow 

Only to breathe an hour and he died? 

Once to the grass he stooped. 

Picked for me one dead leaf 

Where once the north wind swooped 

And slashed beyond belief — 

He put this truth to me : 

What is this leaf to see 

More than deformity. 

More than wrinkles to pout 

Now the red and green are torn out? 

Or where are they gone 

To be no more seen 

That I feasted on. 

The red and the green? 

Were they made to die 

And this leaf to stay? 

But there is my sky 

Of shadowless day; 

There 's my perfect blue 



No Death 471 

To the last end true 

To my look, and too, 

That I may not say 

My universe, 

For better or worse, 

Is not come to stay! 

Looked he this truth to me, 

His truth which was plain; 

All that I think to see 

Will come again, 

For the green and the red 

Are gone, yet not dead, 

For now I have them again. 

In this moonlight rain. 

There is the other soul of me 

Never man was meant to see, 
Over-ground and over-much, 

I not to count it among my beads, 
Not for me to taste or touch. 

Has more than the ground-worm needs, 
Is more than stomach and clutch, 

For he is with me now, 
Much as he once was then, 

My friend of the wondrous eye and brow 
Above worldish ways, human ken, 

He with me as I with him, 
And it matters not, this knuckle or limb 

Or loop of thought between friends — 
Much begins where little ends. 

True, I may not see; 
True, I may not touch ; 
Soul is meant to be, 
Death is meant for much 



472 No Death 

As dark glass on the eyes 
To help me see the skies; 
Power is meant for such 
As I to have and to hold 
And no growing old, 
Nor any loss of size — 
In yonder endless wold 
Worlds nor fall nor rise — 
Death to help me to see, 
Death to point me to be 
One grain of eternity — 

And there lies my tiny schoolfellow friend 

In his garden yonder! 
I walk to the flower-path end 

As now I think of him and wonder 
How or where he may be, or what 

That I dream of not, 
And I by his little resting-spot 

Take his dead leaf out of my breast 
He gave me that day, 

His leaf of wrinkles and croppen crest; 
The green and the red have gone their way, 

Which I look to find, 
As over beyond I see where they lie 

And I never divined, 
My green and my red on the evening sky. 

So to him who reasoneth 

As the sweet soul seasoneth, 

Purely for surely there is no death 

To the upward eye, heavenly breath. 



CRAFT 



Help yourself, my friend, 

Never you mind me! 
Push your purpose to an end 

For all you can see! 
You have your cunning sight, 

Your blizzard-bite, 
Your hog-inkling each way 

You grunt and pray! 
Never you took bother 

About man or brother 
For half a look to see 

How best to do or be, 
So never you mind me ! 



II 



Nor you mind that man there on his knees 

With a Bishopric to please! 
He licks a priest's knuckles, 

Thinking that way to win God, 
Whimpers and trims and truckles 

While they grind him into the sod! 
Never he got a chance to think, 

Nor eye open enough to wink, 

473 



474 Craft 

While you have him, you and your priest, 
Like a combination-beast 

To swallow him whole, 
Body and soul ! 



Help yourself, help heavily, 

Do your trick cleverly; 
Take the world for a dish 

So you dip every wish 
To one mouthful-purpose 

To stuff your gullet like a porpoise 
By imbroglio and fallace. 

Make your home in a palace 
Above the green-swept sod 

Wholly because you can 
By your thinking-pan, 

Wholly for the love of God, 
Never for the love of man. 



IV 



You and your partner priest, 

He to keep me for dear dunce 
Ignorant of my rights of man, 

Keep the thought of me policed 
— What like ignorance blights, stunts ?- 

There 's your sublime altar-plan! 
Have you thought that acolyte 

Reaches ever his full height 
To think and blossom and feel 

And he under your kick and heel? 



Craft 475 

Take him off of your closet-shelf, 

Stand him straight to be himself, 
All the good great soul of him — 

Your one way to get the whole of him ! 



But to come back to me — 

Never you mind me a whit, 
I have only myself to be 

Squarely for the love of it 
And not for that bribe of yours 

Which tickles and gores, 
Your crown of life, your price in view 

To buy me to be true. 



This girl I knew died in a pit. 

Your dungeon, if you told the truth. 
And, oh, the monstrous pity of it 

She should be lost in her handsome youth! 
She had a lover — I knew him too — 

Straight he was and handsome through 
As any soul-stalk ever grew ; 

Bore himself, as each heart should. 
Building universal good. 

Kind as Christmas, one desire 
To lift his world a fathom higher 

Than pit-grovelling to see how 
Low a man shall make his bow 

To tickle the God above him, 
As if that made the Majesty of him! 



476 Craft 



You should have seen them an afternoon 

Together, any day of June, 
Bon Silene flowers in hand 

They could understand, 
Sun-gold counted into spots 

By fathoms of forget-me-nots! 
Each bird matched his lemon breast 

With rye-rods, and crest to crest 
He footed it and sang his best ! 

There was nothing to think for fear, 
Not any bottUng of thought up, here. 

Only the wild free heart was dear! 
Evening would come, the true full moon 

Looked softer, like an eye of June ; 
The same love too, which was always 

Used to no bottlement or small ways. 
Took language, high above any speech, 

More than man to man may teach, 
As each was lost in the love of each. 



Then you came, you and your priest, 

Bound to separate the two, 
Her lover to make monk, at least 

So you planned, your priest and you. 
To tie his brain by your knots, 

Make monk of him, set him tuning 
His spirit-notes to your babooning 

To glossen among empty pots. 
You took the man out of him, short order. 

Brought him to your canon border, 



Craft 477 

Muzzled his nose like an ox, 

Put his thinking in your stocks — 
So you contrived to new-whelp him 

To your purpose, and God help him! 



She, the fine lover-girl, came next. 

Took a leaf out of your text: 
The world is to be put aside! 

Soon as God made it he sighed 
Just to see how hard he tried 

To make it beautiful and wide 
And man not one half satisfied 

To face it, man-fashion free, 
For all he may do to be, 

All himself whole-soulfully. 
So sneaks out of it, as if he knew 

One nobler finer thing to do 
Than face the force God meant him to! 



He for monk, she for nun. 

And your master-stroke is done ! 
Snug in one of your safety-stalls, 

Behind protection, such as their walls 
Make manifest, there she prayed, 

All as if what she mumbled made 
For power, and not the thing to be done, 

A world to be faced, one fight to be won. 
Coward you made of her that day 

She ran from the world away 
To fear God and smirk and pray 

For Heaven to open and dip her way. 



478 Craft 

XI 

Their two lives were God-started! 

God knows they were priest-parted, 
Snuffed under and broken-hearted ! 

You and your partner-priest 
Make most and love least 

By such rulery — but hold, 
There 's a spot of blood in that spot of gold 

Will take you whole eons to rub out — 
Spare me your quibble and muzzle that pout ! 

XII 

Love of truth, love of man, 

Love to do your most you can 

For no favor, no fear, 

You to step high-minded free 

As the cherry-finch in his tree, 
So the way of life is clear, 

So the way of death is dear. 



ALWAYS ROSALIE 

What should I think if you should say 

There stood now in my garden-space 
My Rosalie her perfect way 

She used to, her same true face 
Looking to me, as once she did 

Before the shadow dropped between 
To part us, like a sorrow-screen, 

And I was looking where she was hid? 

Flower-leaves die, so you say there is nothing 
Worth while but just this body-betrothing. 

If she were there in my garden now 

Under her apple-blossom bough, 
Gave me one such gentle look 

As once she used to, eternal sky 
Printed wondrously in her eye 

As it is mirrored in a brook. 
Would I be glad she was come again 

Back to this world for its touch of pain? 

Hark, where my hyacinth is dying, 

How winds in the broken leaves are sighing ! 

Or if she should speak to me that one word 
Never before or since was heard 

By me in any path I went, 

And I know all it held and meant! — 

479 



48o Always Rosalie 

Think you I never hear it again 

Without her lips to tell me plain, 

And there the sweet word trebles its part 
Ringing new majesty in my heart? 

Hark, where my hyacinth is springing, 
How winds in the leaves for lips are singing ! 

Or if she should come to me to place 

Her warm cheek once more to my face 
In the old way, I to not know 

But that it always had been so. 
Think you this heart of mine could stir, 

My white cheek take to turning red 
More than they do now she is dead, 

Once I begin to think of her? 

Hark in the leaves how the air is clinging — 
Her sky-voice, neither sighing nor singing! 

This was her field-flower once she dropped. 

And now I have it, while what is more, 
'Twas so much like her before it stopped. 

Little fingers of madrepore, 
Crescent eyes in the morning's cheek, 

Lips too, yet would you say 
Just because they have paled away 

They lack language or power to speak? 

Count life as you will, either much or nothing, 
There goes one higher kind of betrothing! 

Always I have her, nor you may know 

By leaf or life-line how it is so! 
What I am I may not touch nor see. 

How then shall death snatch myself from me? 



Always Rosalie 481 

Life is to live, Power is to gain, 

Always is more to think of to be, 

So is this truth to the purpose plain : 
Always and always my Rosalie ! 



AT SEA 

Once was a ship 

Where waves ran high 

As her topmast-tip 

Speared an ugly sky 

Of clouds, like black wings in a swarm, 

A ship snapped up in the whip of the storm. 

One bellowing bark 

Out of the dark. 

One lunge of the seas 

Such as rips and rees, 

One back-handed blow at the underhuU 

And her broadside gaped like a broken skull. 

To the pumps to a man 

How they ducked and ran 

As brothers, one thought 

For one hero-lot, 

As if, howsoever they pulled and bored. 

They could dump the deep seas overboard! 

Sooner than what 
Was done or thought 
She was down to her deck, 
Was up to her neck 

And under, to grope in such pit of death 
As swallowed her down like a smothered breath. 
482 



At Sea 483 

Next day morning, 

Just at dawning, • 

Six men at a raft 

Kept a look, fore and aft, 

For any one thing to be seen to be — 

There was only the vast abandoned sea. 

How many days 

I shall not say 

They were castaways 

Where sunbeams play 

To no purpose of grape or daffodil, 

But only at loose ends to stab and kill. 

Hunger made fast 

At the throat of each, 

Scarce a breath came to last 

Or hope to reach, 

As 'spite of all purpose and do their best 

They were blown as thistledown east and west. 

Could it be blunder, 

Or what say you 

Was the thing to do 

Now the seas rolled under 

To pitch their perch above hope, high and dry, 

For never a chance in sight but to die, 

When now came the plan 

Of a life to give. 

The life of one man 

That the rest should live! 

For who shall say, if soul reaches high, 

'T were nobler to live for men than to die? 



484 At Sea 

For quicker than shots, 

At one certain ^ign, 

They were casting lots 

Like Princes divine 

To see who should die, never but nor if, 

So his brothers might have the chance to live. 

When their captain stood, 

Eyes out to the west, 

In one mighty mood 

To do his best — 

Only a word: "Far rather would I 

Go first than any of you should die" — 

Nor sooner said 

Than the thing was done, 

Their captain there dead 

In the laurel sun 

By his own hand, and much as to say, 

"I did my best for j^ou, boys, my way!" 

However much 

Of hunger was there, 

They could not touch 

To bruise him a hair — 

One look of love, one heart up to God, 

And they lowered him in the sea-blue sod. 

What matters their name, 

Or the place they lie? 

Beauty's the same 

In earth or sky! 

Of great men in the world there are many. 

But greater than these men were, never any. 



THE STORY OF ZEMEPHETH TALLITH 

Zemepheth Tallith is one man 

Who built wisdom out of what he saw, 

So, built this tale — nothing truer than 
The pith of it to prove one law 

The sky-worlds plunge and glisten for : 

By his evil way he thought to win! 

Let us look to see what a way it was 
He took to trick and wallow in ! 

Anything to gain his cause. 
While so he thought, by tricks of chance, 

To dagger one honest circumstance, 
As if evil were not doomed in advance! 

Fair was the girl, as he knew, 

Honest and lovemost too; 
One other point he saw, 

I was her man she was looking for, 
Not he — all would agree. 

From what they guessed of her or could see, 
She gave her whole woman-heart to me. 

My rival now was one of those 
To think soul is made out of sod. 

To measure man by what he knows, 
To think he could someway outwit God 

By trick-slick or dark doing 
To get the most as this world goes 

And never reap the ruing, 
485 



486 The Story of Zemepheth Tallith 

Nor saw how Evil is doomed at first, 

How the thing which lasts is Beautiful Right, 

Evil sure to be kicked and curst 
In spite of his magic might — 

He could think, so knew a way 

To gain his point by deviltry-play, 

Keep the best of him at bay. 

The girl he knew kept a heart for me, 
Was mine by force of my love of her. 

Yet he must try his thinking to see 
If he could contrive to stir 

Her longing to look his way a bit — 
What mattered the wrong or right of it? 

All is fair in love and war 
So he bag the plunder he pillaged for ! 

First he must let his own heart go 
— Love to catch love, he knew the bait — 

Then forth at it to tell her so. 
No occasion to smug or wait. 

Danger lies in being late — 
So up to her straight and out with his heart 

By his lip of sireny song-bird art. 

Next he must throw me down — she should see 
I was small matter as her world went — 

I might wear bells, be rhythm-bent, 

Yet what could it count? Man must be 

Front-militant if he would win, 

While to lose the game he is playing in 

Is lop-witted and sample sin. 

Not enough he could say to her 
Of his greatness, of my dwindlement, 



The Story of Zemepheth Tallith 487 

To put himself first, as if it were 
More than half the thing he meant 

To push me aside, let me know 
He was the mightier, and so 

I could not get her, whether or no. 

To her he was flower of speech : 

Her hand was like the satin cheek 
Of a leaf of queen-lily to beseech 

A man to open his heart and speak, 
While he now would have her all his own, 

To be his love for eternal life, 
So begged her to be his noble wife. 

She watched him through as I watch my snipe 
On his quicksands duck and pipe. 

Nor knew what under stars he meant 
By his tatterwallops as on he went 

To tell her of his love, 
To tell her I was not fire enough, 

Only a topaz in the rough, 

And — there as soon as he said it all. 

Told the great of him and the small, 
"Why" she answered, "could you not see 

Your rival is all the world to me? 
Was there no way you should know 

My heart for how I loved him so? — 
I married him just a year ago!" 



ONE GREAT MAN 

In the world are many great men, 

Greatness is every now and then; 
I see it in each coke-hole pit, 

'Though I be never looking for it — 
In yonder roundhouse or where I may 

Go loafing haphazard any day 
I see it, and always for what 

Is wonderful, and I dreamed of not. 

So too is it a thing not of thought 

To be by diagram any way taught, 
Is not to be swallowed like a pellet ; 

Genius may lack it and yet tell it 
By climax of page upon page, 

Yet is it not a gift of age 
Not unique property of youth, 

But only one Beauty of boundless truth. 

Here is a case in hand : 

You see the people piling by 
In Broadway, as if the rounded land, 

Whether for joy or pity, 
Tumbled all mankind into the city, 

As if there were no other place to die 
Or live, as the case may be, 

And men like flies in a pot of tea. 
488 



One Great Man 489 

Among them pushed one tiny fellow, 

Ten years old only to a day, 
Eager eyes, cheeks white and yellow, 

In and out he wound his way 
Dog wise among them, tried to say 

What he craved, more people to buy 
His evening papers, yet never a sigh 

As the deaf and dumb crowd passed him by. 

Two small hands, now he put them up, 

White-about-thin as a lily's cup ; 
Two blue wide eyes, like an open book, 

Gave you one kindest manful look 
'Though he saw night come dropping down 

Its veil between him and the town 
To put his whole outlook dim — 

Was there no place in the world for him? 

Slightest hands, such tiny feet. 

So you reason death is all, 
A blow of final defeat 

For one so wholly fragile and small ! 
But hark, here 's another kind of thing, 

Voice with soul in it, such a ring 
Above hands and feet and all 

As speaks of nothing fragile or small ! 

Little legs as the arms are small. 

Body thin as a strawberry stem, 
Yet soul as large as sky-grace, all 

The stars may show by the host of them, 
And more — for mark you right there 

Is Beauty supersensuous fair 
Above any star-sparkle glow, 

Beyond where the wheels of planets go! 



490 One Great Man 

Soul, and you see the size of it, 

Never the hands and eyes of it ; 
Body, so passing small, 

Feeble as flies in a hungry squall; 
Soul, as all space is great. 

Body out of keeping and date; 
So comes this clean conviction to you : 

They are not one and the same, these two. 

For look to my small Broadway chap : 

The face, how pale it is by the light 
Of a shop lamp, under his cap 

And he looks in — how the shop is bright — 
Pudding-day, while there he looks 

Now the steam whistles, treacle cooks 
For corn-dodgers, celery-stem — 

What would he give for a bite of them ! 

Cold — which he minded not of; 

Shelter — he thought of no other 
In all his palace of love 

But for the one pink infant brother 
And helpless little patient mother — 

So the winds might whistle above. 
Bite his cheek like a moccasin bites — 

Such hearts are proof against ugly nights. 

Did he get a dollar for a day, 

All of it must go for them, 
For her and her tiny flower-stem, 

"All for them," so he would say. 
So starved his throat, yet fed such heart 

As men make light of, such Godful part 
As puts up fingers and eyes 

Beyond the whole sweep of crimson skies. 



One Great Man 491 

One day came his defeat, 

His seventh day, so 't was said, 
Of never morsel to eat, 

For there must be breath and bread 
For child and mother in bed. 

So large was his soul and sweet. 
So superhumanly wrought 

As never to think of himself a thought. 

The hour was at one with dusk. 

Like his day he was come to a stop — 
One tilt of the head, one little husk 

As there at the curb they saw him drop 
Face to the lamp in his pudding-shop ! 

Just a last word, like one living gem 
In a dying diadem : 

"All 's right — all for them." 

In the world are many great men, 

Greatness which comes and goes, 
Nor footprint puts in the crossing snows — 

Copy it, you shoals of men 
Who shovel for what is small, 

Think your belly the Lord and all ! — 
Here was a great man as nature goes 

And the good God knows ! 



HEREAFTER 



See my man in his cuticle-coat, 

His high thought just to grow to bloat 
His rib up to stuff the coat ! 

He lived in his pretty suburb-spot, 
Cascades moulded one silver river 

Which made the great sun dance and quiver, 
Trees were wild in his garden-plot ; 

Never was such another villa 
For blossoms of poke and prune, 

Flowers in branches of vanilla 
To turn a whole year into June, 

Cockrobins to put whistle 
To purple snapdragon or thistle, 

Tripods of trillium and grape 
To give the sunbeams color-shape — 

Under grass-bank or over lawn 
Flew his eagles, flew spotted fawn, 

Flew his fountains in air — 
'Round him was all garden-care 

To kindle eyes, stuff his pelt, 
Make his last wish topple to melt. 



My gentleman took this world in tow, 
Knew a light way to capture coin 

By small labor of brain or loin, 

Knew what most men try to know. 



Hereafter 493 

One velvety way a man may go 

To get what most this one world offers, 
Capital tricks for filling coffers 

To ripen the eye, sweeten the tongue 
To fat his cheek just to keep him young — 

As if a world to be got made the thing, 
Not such mammoth efforting 

As puts a man to be tried, to be more 
For mightful as the eagles soar! 

Never he lacked in the world his way, 
Never he lost a point to make 

Moly out of garden-clay 
To rub out wrinkles, stop an ache. 

So that way were gathered to him 
Ankledom, belly- vim. 

Majesty of rump and limb, 
He high master to make most 

Of what other men played for and lost 
By changing gold into gems and jelly 

To blush his eye, proud his belly. 
How he prospered one could see 

By such his equanimity 
As calms the look of glutted sheep 

Once they knuckle under to sleep. 

Ill 

One daughter, nineteen barely, 

Was sole companion to him ; his stay, 
His comforter she was each day, 

So much so 't was never or rarely 
We saw them separate — like one they were grown 

Daughter and father there alone 
In his topaz-palace, she to make 

Each day May-day for his sake, 



494 Hereafter 

He to have her, his vine now grown, 

His clinging blossom and all his own. 
They two just. Evening would come 

Like a new life out of the sky, 
One deluge of worlds chrysanthemum 

Or tulip-colored to show him why 
Beauty is put to such endless change : 

To take new shape, loftier range. 
Evening would come, there they would sit 

Under the moon to wonder at it, 
At all Heaven, what it all meant, 

Such Beauty beyond wonderment 
As looked to them by a single star 

So perfect and so passing far 
As by no cunning may be caught 

At the threshold of any thought — 
There she would mind him of many things 

He seemed to do no thinking of, 
As how the very stars grew wings, 
' Lived their light out and were off 

, To new purpose, mightier meaning 

Clean beyond any human gleaning — 
As how men too are made for moulding 

Spirit out of body, just as you 
See a star through the eons folding 

White light in its breast, till fruitful new 
Rose-light be bom or tea-weed blue 

To take the star-shape, star- wink too, 
Just to hand such Beauty to you. 



IV 



'Dear father," she would say, "you make too much 
Of pod-life, of plumful earth ! 



Hereafter 495 

Only what you may taste or touch 

You hold good enough, labor worth. 
Yonder frolics your spotted fawn, 

See how he ambles and dances, 
Or your aquamarine-tree prances 

As you get glutted looking on 
At what you may touch to see, 

Think it highest sublimity 
Of what may be reached to be got — 

Never you look to the thing which is not 
To be seen nor tasted nor smelt. 

Has nor diaphragm nor pelt. 
Not a knuckle to be felt. 

Yet is of us and around us 
To enrapture and confound us. 

One out-of-sight Beauty, ever expanding, 
Ever beyond all understanding. 



"Father dear, there is more 
Than copper joint, bismuth ore, 

More than your almond trees 
Putting lips up to suckle breeze, 

More than the mortal best of these, 
More in me, more of you 

Than pink blood or ambigu 
May compass, may try to do. 

To find it you shall look around. 
Look beyond your hunting-ground — 

Soul is not measured by the pound!" 

VI 

One day he looked for her— the pretty lip 
Of coral, her morning'^cheek 



496 Hereafter 

Which dimpled as if trying to speak, 

Her hand so Hke her lilac-strip — 
Listened for her, the melody-pitch 

Her voice took, her singing words 
Playing among the bugle-birds 

Till he scarce noticed which was which— 
Called for her across his lawn 

She danced between the robins on — 
Begged for her: Oh come again, 

Just as you were once bright and round 
As any blossom could be found 

Or moon at its meridian — 
Oh come again, your flowers are waiting 

To have you back. 
Honey-flies in the sun are skating 

Each purple track. 
Your quince and olive tree stand reaching 

Such palms to you 
As if the soul of them were beseeching 

The charms of you — 
Oh come again as once you were quaffing 

May-breath of aloe 
To put your young e3^es dancing, laughing 

Like leaps of a swallow — 
Yet was she nowhere there for him. 

Called he never so kindly — 
Looked he never so blindly 

To know her only by cheek and limb, 
As if the best of her, after all, 

Were the amber neck, satin spall, 
Her lips to which he could fly or call ! 

Nevermore! Only now she lay 
At her couch her faded-flower- way, 

Little left of her more to tell 



Hereafter 497 



What she was once — there she lay 

Like a wounded swan at bay, 
So white, only a lip of chalk, 

Scarce a breath of her to talk, 
One withered lily on a stalk ! 

VII 

"Dear father," she said, "look you to see 
How little now is left of me 

Your way of looking for bloom or such, 
A throat to listen to, to touch ! — 

There 's my poor last of an arm 
Now has lost its pretty charm 

Down to each shadow of each palm; 
Body goes slowly leaving me, 

Yet is there as much of me 
As ever to feel and to be 

My soul to keep my love of thee, 
To show this body may come to go. 

Yet plants the soul for you to know 
All as it ever was — see, I am not 

More than map or body-plot 
Of what I was once, there you and I 

Sought to unravel the evening sky 
To know what a wink of it meant, 

Such order and no blunderment. 
Such Beauty and all wonderment — 

Or such a morning as that one was 
We tugged at a stream to see the sun 

Angle foi trout by his silver thread 
Of a thousand yellow-baited claws, 

Bobs of blue-light to shoot and run 



49^ Hereafter 

Into violet or poppy-red 

As there we saw the pickerel flew 
To dash such sprays against the sun 

As broke into every kind of blue 
And scarlet and the thing was done: 

For so he took the pure white light 
Sky dropped, gave it one twitch and mix, 

Then sent it, for all his might, 
Into sparks of color and flight — 

There 's this life at its best of tricks ! 

"Look no more for me 
By your yonder lawn. 
Nor by my blossom-tree 
When I am gone — 
Look not about your place 
Of cinnamon-bowers 
To think to see my face 
Among the flowers — 
More is to think and see 
Than you live upon, 
More to be grown to be 
Beyond your lawn ; 

Of fountain and fawn — 
God gave me soul. 
My part of the whole, 
I to give it shape. 
Elbow and nape. 
Mould it to form 
Out of sun and storm 
By my way of Right, 
By my heel of Might, 
I to shape it so 
I come to see 



Hereafter 499 



More is to hope and be 

Than men may know ! 

Look not for me 

You touch and see 

When I am gone — 

No more my pace 

Over yonder lawn, 

My morning face 

To look upon — 

My little race 

After joy and place 

Is past and gone — 

Look you for me 

You may not see; 

Have not a care ^ 

Lest I be not there 

In the sunbeam-air. 

My place I have known 

To which I have grown 

Which is everywhere 

To be all I may 

By my different day, 

By my higher way — 

Look for me not 

By our pondhole spot 

Where my supplejack climbs 

Out of spring-bells and thymes 

Are there not moon and sun 

To build upon? 

Is there no way to see 

What men may be? 

Watch how sunshine light 

Shows only white 

Ere once it leaps to throw, 



500 Hereafter 

Through cloud or snow, 

Pink to olive-amber glow 

To hold you so — 

See where skyland light 

Makes only white 

Till now it plunges through 

My gem of fire or dew, 

Gives me rocket-blossom blue; 

Pierces yonder star 

Like a shooting spar 

To take such tint and shape 

As put the world agape ! 

Ah, but there 's your rock 

Sun ma}^ not puncture. 

Gives only jolt and shock 

Right at the juncture. 

Casts its nothing-shadow 

Across my meadow ! 

Soul would pierce you through, 

Get a shape by you, 

Other higher Beauty too 

Than any pink, any blue, 

Form to have and to hold, 

And man the mould ! 

Soul is everywhere. 

For you your share 

To let it through 

One life of you 

To take nobler shape 

Than shin and nape, 

To capture more of you 

Than pink or blue. 

Capture power, cast. 

Which shall surely last 



Hereafter 501 

After this mould is gone 
Soul grows upon. 

"Play nor gier-eagle 
Nor yelping beagle, 
Nor yet the solid rock 
Which tries to block 
Each little gentle ray 
Picking its handsome way 
Against the clay, 
Looking for drops of dew 
To let it through, 
For bubbles of glass 
To let it pass 
Into submarine blue, 
Into coral stripes — 
So my sunbeam ripes! 

"Seek me not, dear father, 

By your muscadine- wall. 

Nor where stein-vines gather 

New plums in fall — 

Look you for me rather 

Where my lilies drop 

At autumn, have lost their prop — 

Only Beauty goes, 

Beauty of fig and rose ; 

Stalk and filemot-leaf remain 

To hug mud-bank, chamel-plain — 

Only Beauty goes away. 

Only that which is best. 

Leaves pot-house of clay. 

Punk and the rest — 



5oi Hereafter 

Beauty goes, the rest stays, 
Tumbles and decays. 

"Look not for me 
You hold and see, ' 
But only for what 
Makes royalty 
Of heart and thought, 
Makes soul to be 
Beyond body-lot. 
Transcendency 
Triumphant-wrought ! " 



IN PRESTON 

Oh, the air is good to-day! 

This is the June of it, my friend; 
Heart-leap is the game to play, 

Fig and mint are under way, 
My prune-tree to the sweet leaf -end, 

So let us be off an hour or two 
For a breath to take and a thing to do! 

Over yonder, one way which 

We go to snuff the apple-breath, 

There should run one meadow-ditch 
Nursing a bosomful of fitch 

Where the hawk is still and reasoneth 
As I reason now I go to see 

What change has come in my ditch and me 

Since I was boy here — you know 

How quick the years step in and out 

And drag you with them — well, so 
I was boy here such long ago. 

Knew the wild tree-tribe 'round about. 

Yet now could scarce find a way to tell 

My swamp-apple-swamp or puff-ball bell. 

Comes each thought like June winds do 
To waft me back again to then 

When each bottle-bird for you 

Diamonded his wings in dew, 
503 



504 In Preston 

Blew the same song again and again, 

As if he feared you might up and go 
If he changed his tune, so kept on so. 

Let us take the pasture- way ! 

How I used to drive our cattle 
By just this path, just this day 

Everything had a thing to say: 
There was each evening-frog-pond prattle. 

My game-cock to pipe on Lantern Hill 
As if his throat were a broken quill. 

This my uncle's acre-lot 

I got flowers in, cylinder flax. 

Bubbles of forget-me-not. 

Each flower sweet and wild I got, 

Treed the bob white in his tracks, 

Trailed my bee to his purple thistle 

To join him, help him pump and whistle. 

Did it ever come to you 

How much they are, those wonder-days 
We left behind for a view 

Of the world to try to do 
Loyaler things by royaler ways. 

And now to look back to think of them, 
Beauty for king in a clover-stem 

I dance about, wonder at. 

Bow and bend to it just the way 

I might to king or caveat. 

While what I see you longing at 

Is to be like one of these one day 

That beckon so to you from the grass 

By pink fingers, will not let you pass. 



In Preston 505 

Just this corner of a wall 

Is where I waited once for her 
Who loved to come to my call — 

Now the sun began to fall, 
Now we were under this fir, 

And just to think of it, such love then 
As never comes in the world again ! 

See how the shadows will play 

Forever so across my field ! 
Stop to think of it how they 

Never had a word to say, 
A flower to hand you, crop to yield, 

Yet always this shadow stays with men: 
Youth comes never in life again, 

To show, and I hold it true. 

Dark makes nothing, has no power 
To hand an atom to you 

As sun does by his flame and dew. 
Look how yonder Euphorbia flower 

Strikes white and green like swords of grass 
To cut through the shadows as they pass 

So you shall harbor no thought 

Of any shadow any way, 
A thing which is wholly not, 

Never could have had a day. 
For have you not taken thought 

To look your yondermost where there fly 
No shadows across the blue-bom sky? 

So I say I hold it true 

Darkness in the heart is for what 



5o6 In Preston 

Shows the bright white soul of you 
For more yet you shall be and do 

Than heart has hoped, than men have thought, 
And, just as I trusted that day then, 

I shall have my first-bom love again. 

See this here, my sorrow-plot, 

Their quiet garden where they lie 

In ribbons of forget-me-not 

Who left me their love for what 

Is foremost and is not to die — 

See how my orange nigella grew 

To prick the mist and shadow through ! 

Oh, friend, for a breath of June ! 

Come with me now the fields are wet. 
Dew-balls waiting for their moon, 

Wrens to put the air in tune, 
Song to the clapping of castanet. 

And we be off, just I and you. 
For a breath of it, as we used to do! 



ROSY WEIGELIA 

Last night only, just there at her gate, 

Such beautiful night, 

A whole moon out bright, 
I was sure to be eager, stay late. 
Linger so long as the moon would wait. 

Under her catalpa tree 

She was waiting as I came; 
I knew she was waiting for me. 

All as I know my either name; 
I knew I was all her thought, 

I knew I was what she said, 
Wholly her trusting trusted Fred, 

While a man in the world was not 
For her in my place instead. 

A king-robin in a plum-tree dropped 

Into such a new tune 

To the harking moon 
As never I thought was heard or topped 
Since man by a taste of sweet was stopped. 

As now at her gate I stood. 

The moon struck in through the leaves between. 
Mottled her frock a new gold and green. 

Pushed at her eyelids, tried to intrude 
Where soul hides — I saw her look 

The other way, as if she took 
The moon for a robber-rook. 
507 



5o8 Rosy Weigelia 

Life is plenty, once anyone knows 

How to lay his plan 

Like a gullet-man 
To get the most — but stroke your nose 
To take a thought, lest you trip your toes! 

Most men scramble for what is most, 

Few men think of their best. 
Seldom or never to boast 

Of the battlesome breast 
Which brought them to time to be men, 

Makes a man over again — 
Power to your elbow and you 

By your struggle to do ! 

All by her smile I could clearly see 
She watched for me now 
From her moonbeam-brow 

Close to her small Weigelia-tree 

Just to be thinking only of me. 

Now I was there at her lap, 

Now at her eyes with my sigh; 
Life was a wing and its flap 

And I heart-ready to die 
For love of her, now I knew 

She was for me so soulful-true 
As taught me once for all to smother 

Thought that she could think of another. 

Prettily true her missel-bird sung 

Of a soul he had 

Which was dancing glad 
As flowers in his dew-tree overhung 
Like evening bells, till I thought they rung. 



Rosy Weigelia 509 

I was not looking to her so 

For soul supremity of thought — 
Love has a way of its own to go, 

While what I think of it matters not 
So I and the one I love be one, 

So I play my part and I have won. 
So the prime high problem of life be done. 

To wit, that I and my love be one. 

Hark to the lark in his trees above, 

His song-about-leap 

For a soul to keep 
For just his way to gurgle and love — 
One life, one song for him is enough! 

In all the country 'round 

Was only the one Weigelia-bush 
In her pretty Oregon-ground — 

Of this she gathered a single strip, 
Put it in my coat-lap — so ! — 

Red was the flower as her flower-lip, 
By which she would have me know 

Love was tied in her bosom so 
As never to fail me, never to go. 

Next day evening, to tell above all, 

I was off the way 

Of a popinjay 
To tune my step to the village ball. 
Our May-Moth dance at the Town-House hall, 

My care, above all, to be seen 

In pipe-stem hat, coat bottle-green. 



5IO Rosy Weigelia 

My valiant map-of-war vest 

To dance in to strike liveliest — 
Care to be noticed of her, 

Thought of my throat, of my jasper pin 
To stick it at right angles in. 

Of each twitch down to each footfall stir 
For my best strut, and all for her — 

One last touch of taste, so I 
Could command her longest sigh, 

So, snug in my buttonhole lip 
I tucked her rosy Weigelia-slip 

For only that she should see 
Her one place in the heart of me, 

When— 



Now for the courage men must grow 

For power to stand 

In perfect command 
Of each little pallor-look or glow 
If they see their idols snap and go — 

For there at the ball I was one of sev^en — 

There might have been more, twice eleven, 
But this I know, I counted seven 

Of those of us who hovered about 
Her light laugh and dimple-pout 

As if our day were come and gone. 
Nothing now worth our thinking on, 

Since each one told the one anecdote 
Of how he thought she was wholly his 

As a sunbeam to a jacinth is, 
As if the words would bite out his throat — 

Her strip of Weigelia was in each coat ! 



Rosy Weigelia 511 

Better you to be merry never 

Than you clasp the bee 

For his mellidy 
To hug the sting of him forever ! 
She stung us all — how great, how clever! 



LIFE IN THE WORLD 

How love the world so for what it is, 

Not for what it points, 
Much as to love a precipice 

For the jag-oaks and ugly joints 
And not for the pinnacle it points 

Where sky drops worlds, fire anoints? 
You love not the precipice less. 

But more the yonder mightiness 
Of sky-peak, giant suns, 

Where the Dog-Star winks, Chameleon runs! 
Somewhat of you of finer touch 

Holds from loving the world too much, 
A touch to show there is more 

Ahead always than went before. 
Anyway you reason it 

There 's not so much to seize in it 
As blindness builds and sees in it, 

Your world, just by itself alone 
And no after, and no yonder-zone. 

See how the best of it is cut short: 
My song-swallow revels in his sport. 

Music is his bosom-forte, 
While right as he gave me his master-note 

Night whistled and the Dog-Star smote ! 
512 



Life in the World 513 

My rose has tucked up its elbow feather, 

As if proof against any weather, 
While, lo, before night is on, 

Just a touch of amber sun 
Gives it the withered lip 

And sudden slip ! 
This my elegant star-thistle, 

Plumes of reed green and gay yellow, 
Carries a cock-robin for a whistle, 

A bee-fly for a play-fellow, 
Keeps a pocketful of venomy. 

Draws swords to strike an enemy, 
While just one gun-kick out of a sky 

And my flower-friend is going to die! 
My boy-mate and mighty friend, 

He who took another track 
Than I with my Love-of-Beauty knack. 

Thought the life he had was an end 
To fly to to ravish and circumtrend. 

So made him his castle, built him for fair 
His spires to lick the glistening air, 

Nor saw the fingers how they pointed 
Where worlds and Beauty are conjointed. 

You love the world, you think you do, 
For a thing worth flying for tying to. 

Yet is it not the half of you 
For value, for high-mightiness. 

For see how it comes to less and less 
By just the more of it you know. 

By just the greatness which you grow. 
You glad one day to let it go 

For having gotten, by more and more, 
Size to you and spirit-prore. 

And the withered body is no more ! 
33 



514 Life in the World 

You love the world? Well and good! 

We make no quarrel about that! 
Who loves not the trebling chat, 

A crossbill in his silky snood, 
Yonder cloud of heliotrope 

Bundled in an ochre cope. 
My qua-bird, silent as a pope 

To look so as if he knew 
More than the knowing soul in you? 

Who would not dawdle to dream 
Hours away of one August day, 

Flies for fellows, by any stream 
Which tickles rocks so they display 

Tall feathers of silver spray 
To match daylight, defy each gleam 

Flashing up from plunging bream 
Where woodruff flowers, May-flies dip 

To get each open lavender lip, 
While you take the tulip for its pout, 

Take the best of all about 
To give the very best of you out? 

Who does not love his flower 
To see in it another power 

Counts him more than the mortal hour 
It lived and died in, hands up to each sky 

As if never the flower got enough 
Of wind-licks or the ugly cuff 

Which mean more May-sweet and onyx dye? 



Ah, but you love the world, you say, 

For the God in it and monarch-play ! 

Think of that well once before you 

Take it for wholesomest wholly true 



Life in the World 515 

And you may discover the God in you! 

My sand-cricket will dance in the sun, 
Yet a plover's beak is the thing in point, 

His craw is empty, is out of joint, 
So ere his pretty dance is begun 

My pretty cricket is crippled and done. 
My pigeon of the mulberry strip 

From shoulder- joint out to each tip 
Of wing, also water-green dye 

Which matches his iris hood and eye. 
His song only the one low sigh. 

And there I must let him slip 
To death in an anaconda's grip! 

Ah — so you turn against the thing! 
Yet you see it next just about, 

Nature's grunt and junketing. 
Strength putting weakness to rout, 

A tiger's jaws in a eweling's throat 
Just that he may suck blood and bloat ! 

You do not love the thing? Ah, so! 
But nature made it that way once : 

Is Nature, then, just dotard-dunce 
Because I found my way to go 

Above, beyond it, so much higher 
As to drop off every blood-desire 

For other nobler thing to think 
Than potwise ways by trick and kink? 

My garden will grow my tree, 
While there in the top of it I shall see 

One flower of such supremacy 
Of white with blue lines inter-run 

I wonder how the thing is done 
Out of black earth and carrion 

Till I look up to the monarch sun. 



51 6 Life in the World 

By what I do not like I show 

Just that in me was meant to grow 
Beyond Nature here as I see it, 

First to surpass, last to flee it. 
Quite as this flower has over-topped 

The mud-pool-patch where sweet was cropped 
Even to outspangle the imperial sun 

By blue and white lines inter-run ! 



See how your noblest may not be best. 

As this world goes : There for your life 
Is the keen sweetheart and pretty wife, 

Yet over and above her, east or west, 
There, too, the clinging patient mother 

You tie to more than any other 
For love of her — yet is it best 

You leave her to join another 
By the whip-royal way of life. 

Get you the new blue-ribbon wife, 
While to leave her who never left you, 

To put another in her place, 
Drop her aside, as you will do. 

Hurts hard enough in any case. 
Is never your highest heart in you. 

Or look how you live life in the main 
For what 's to come out of it, a gain 

Of some sort, a way to glue 
More pie-cheek and jowl to you. 

To reach for glory and power. 
For the honey-suck of an hour. 

While all the days the more you do 
For not a little thought of you 

But only to be kind and true 



Life in the World 517 



Brings finer glory into view, 
Nobler soul to be flying to. 



Nature will push out the weak, 

Fling it aside as bubbishy, 
Nothing worth or rubbishy^ — 

Soul takes another voice to speak, 
And, all in spite of this life-wise art. 

Gathers her weaklings to her heart 
To show, as I said before. 

As I say again and again, 
There goes more of me, skyfuls more 

Than I may suck out of wind and rain, 
Out of Sims or worlds or laws 

By any trick of brain and paws, 
One part of me which mightily grows 

To where Beauty ripes and no man knows. 
Like as this mud-heap flies a rose. 

Under a brow of sky 

With a moon for an eye 

My Rosalie died — 

Never I heard her sigh. 

Both pale eyes open wide 

And she looked so straight above 

As if she saw her way 

In the clear other day 

Of loftier love, 

Of untangled play 

Of sweet spirit to go 

Beyond what men know 

Of life and love and power 

And the snap-shot hour. 



5i8 Life in the World 

How in our playmate-days 

We were one together 

Through scallopy bays 

In our sun-born weather 

Just to leap and laugh 

Like free idle chaff 

In the wind-warm days 

Of June — and now gone, 

Life over and days done, 

She so willing to go, 

Had done her best 

To greaten to know, 

By each hard-time test, 

Soul was meant to grow 

And to leave the rest 

Of the world below. 

She died, as I have said, 

In her moonbeam-bed. 

Such pale fingers reaching 

For their aster gems, 

Like water-lily stems 

Parched and bleaching — 

Looked as if she saw 

In the blue high air 

New worlds out there 

Worth dying for. 

She died as the great die. 

Knew the what of it, the why 

There 's no need to sigh 

For what is best put by, 

This world when life is through 

For more to struggle to 

The way all spirit knows 

By how it grows. 



Life in the World 519 

Each day to come to more 

Than ever before, 

Each year to see what blue 

Lapwing or forest grew, 

See body get its growth, 

Field-flower its blowth, 

But never the soul 

To look to an end. 

To know any goal. 

Any final friend, 

Always the heavens too small 

For this soul of all 

To compass an end. 

And so she looked that night — 

There a certain light 

Of another sight 

Lay in her eyes. 

Of a depth and height 

More than lifely-wise. 

More than mortal bright — 

There came one look to me 

Of love I shall see 

When my day is done 

And my view begun 

Beyond what men think 

In a summer wink. 

Beyond what they know 

Of a summer glow, 

Beyond where they run. 

And I take my view 

In the endless blue 

Beyond any sun — 

Just her one look to me 

Of such knowing thought 



520 Life in the World 

So supremely wrought 

Of Beauty, and I could see 

Only her Majesty 

Of soul which took to flight 

Out of touch, out of sight, 

But never out of heart, 

Never out of me, 

Always my other part, 

Always my Rosalie, 

As the rich moon is there, 

Nevermore to touch. 

Evermore to share 

Her light, none like it such. 

Her Beauty, none like it fair. 

Evermore and everywhere. 

Love you the world to take it 

For only what it is. 
For just what you may make it, 

And the upshot of it this: 
More is of you than you may do 

Or think to feel or travel to 

By one life, if you only knew? 

Mark the sky-kaleidoscope 

Of worlds and suns and power 
Mixing blush and heliotrope 

With prune-blue every hour 
Of change ! How they break up, blow new flame, 

A new shuffle just the constant game, 
Yet Beauty there forever the same! 

Love you the world to keep it? 
Not so, my friend — your way 



Life in the World 521 

Makes that you more than reap it, 

You take it for a day 
To grow in, as you grew your flowers 

Between the sprinkle of stars and showers, 
To come to Beauty beyond all Powers. 



EUNICE 

How the grasses in each gentle sod 

Bend like fingers to point to me, 
Then straighten to point to God, 

As if they try to have me see 
I am one with eternity ! 

That way I think when the sun goes down, 

Seems to have gone so far away 
There never might come another day 

To drop its light on grass and town. 
While yet I know this earth only runs 

One moment between me and steeples of suns. 

I wonder, Eunice, do you remember 

Such an afternoon as that 
In the first quarter of September 

We treed the canticle of a chat 
At the elbow of your orchard wall 

Ringing to us his loudest call, 
Singing as if his soul were all ! 

I wonder, too, do you now think 

Of one August noon — our pond-hole ditch 
We clung to, we watched at the brink 

The pickerel at his slip and twitch. 
While 'round us was all summer air, 

All 'round us never cloud of care! 
522 



Eunice 523 

What I would have said, who knows? 

Down in the grass the flowers were ripe; 
I stooped and pulled the pinkest rose 

That ever wore cheek or stripe; 
You hung it in your hair to pitch 

Where the cheek was ripe as the pink was rich — 
Who could have ever told which was which? 

Such another day came what 

Comes never ever to be forgot, 
Your hand to hand me this ivy flower, 

Which I have kept so where it clings, 
And I know all the thought it brings 

In one small hand of such mighty power. 
Just one withered tiny flower 

To follow me the long years through, 
One day to bring me back to you. 

Or in one evening under cover 

Of so many worlds for troops of light 

I was one one-hearted lover, 

Kept your true face close in sight 

To envy the moon which was there 

At your new cheek and gentle hair. 

Did Hfe go hard with me in places, 

Have I tried many thoughts in turn, 

Looked for the old hearts in new faces. 

Found how the Furies chop and churn, 

Through all of it the long way through 
Always my soul went back to you. 

So young we were parted! 

That one day 
Will never from my eyes away, 



524 Eunice 

The day I saw you my last, 
Looked back to you where you stood 

By your anglerod-wood 
In your ivy-leaf hood, 

Waved to me up the road. 

Gave me your smile, while yet 

The smile held such heavy load 
As I am never to forget, 

Such hope-broken look of plea, 

While scarcely I could look to see 

For all the darkness was in me. 

So were we cut asunder! 

Who shall say it was blunder? 
Life is wonder upon wonder 

That so much seems to go wrong 
And we come out of it tall and strong ! 

Each one to his cloud and clay 
As each blossom fights a way 

To poke up through the earth 
All kinds of supremest worth. 

So many years are done. 

So many things are wrought, 

But not since that Sunday sun 
Were you ever once forgot. 

Or farther away ever from me 

Than soul is — there 's my truth I see. 

Is it not true that we are one? 

Yet the world has put us so wide apart 
Since our young love first begun 

So high above knowledge, gold and art. 



Eunice 525 

I look about and I see 

One truth everywhere put to me: 
There stands no Hmit to this heart; 

For 'though we were parted and you went 

Your way, I my way too, 
Played the high-minded game straight through, 

Captured prize and bafBement, 
And we were lost to each other so wide 

Where all things have lasted while man has died, 
Yet are lives lost so fields may be won, 

And now that this life is said and done, 
Are we not, much as ever, you and I, one? 



IN A BELL-TOWER 

Bell-tower times! 

Each bell he smote 
Rang out one bell-bosom note 
In galaxies of chimes 
Across country — men heard 
Each ripple, like a silver word — 
They thought: What is it that sings 
As if each bell had a soul 
Bent upon some super-goal, 
A soul just of bell and wings? — 
Not once you thought of you, 
Only of the trombone-air 
How it fingered and blew 
Into song from everywhere — 
Yet there came each lilt and dole 
Told us of another soul 
They came from somehow, somewhere, 
To drop such sweetness in the air. 
Over and above the whole 
High heaven of song men caught 
One super-sense, one soul 
Which must have wholly wrought 
Such keyboards in the wind that day 
As tempted the wild storm to play 
At lullaby or chant — 
Sweet Heaven seemed to throb and pant. 
526 



In a Bell-Tower 527 



Up among one stack of bells 

In a tower, so my story goes, 

The story now each villager tells 

For what he heard, as best he knows, 

Lived once — I vouch it was long ago — 

A dwarf of hunch-back build — 

Crooked he was, quog-shape so. 

So much his back was hilled. 

Cheek-bones sticking so far out 

Like an overpowering pout. 

As if the eyes were window-silled, 

Toady-like to a touch. 

Low limp, hop-up of a slutch 

For slinking by half a crawl. 

Such a miserly gait. 

His lizard-look over him all 

Like a sneer and grin of fate. 

Yet one would wonder to see 

His brow was rounded as broad 

As the forehead of a God, 

One heart-look of infinity 

Out of such wondrous eyes 

As marked him part of divinity, 

Showed him overhuman wise, 

As if they swallowed a light 

Never came of human sight. 

This was the bell-tower man, 

Aspect scarce better than 

Any mud-bank of a ditch — 

So little between his trip and hitch 

For anyone to choose, 

I might think the devil was loose. 



528 In a Bell-Tower 

At least so I think he thought, 

So measured himself, for soon 

As he understood for what 

Men took him, whatlike he seemed, 

Aborted monster macaroon, 

Hideous more than demons dreamed. 

He took to his one high whim 

That, take him for limb and limb. 

This world was not meant for him. 

Never was he made to strut 

More than crab or mariput ; 

Could not copy elegance 

In his frogsome circumstance; 

Pretty maiden would not look 

At his step he undertook 

To shuffle by hook or crook; 

One by one, only a sigh, 

People would pass him by 

With their post wiggle or shrug 

To see him trundle and tug 

To wind'ard like a tumble-bug- — 

Pity, perhaps, which was all, 

Small as most pity-size is small. 



So, since he could not be of it, 
Bound was he to be above it. 
This world with its mucilage-tricks 
Where your fly-man licks and sticks- 
Somewhat he could see made higher 
Than this animal desire 
To grow feathers, shape each limb 
To prettiness, court one whim 



In a Bell-Tower 529 

For brain-work to compass power 

To gain gain, get the whole 

By any poverty of soul 

In one small life of an hour. 

How to be out of the world, yet 

Be of it wholly enough 

To give it his best, his love, 

There was his question-quodlibet ! 

Knew he well he could not be 

As others were, could not do 

As others did, could not see 

As others saw — his was only 

Life all masterful and lonely 

To do and to be his most. 

Die soul-sovereign at his post. 

Well he saw, well he knew 

He was more than others grew 

By many lives — deep and true 

His heart was, so his soul 

Seemed to circumreach the whole 

Of what was noblest and best, 

Something inconceivably blest. 

Look you your list of men, 

You will not see such soul again. 

Much he had in him to do 

His way, not your way nor mine, 

A soul to show which was true, 

A heart which was half divine. 

Till his thought like this thought grew: 

To live and to not be seen, 

To find him a way to hide 

Back of some perfect screen. 

Show just his spirit-side, 

Men to forget what he had been 



530 In a Bell-Tower 

In body-shape and claw, 

See only soul worth living for. 



How to rise above it, 
This grouse-hoyse life of men, 
How to not be of it, 
Yet of it heart and ken 
To sound his highest word, 
To let his soul be heard 
For all the best was of it. 
All men to come to love him 
For more than skin and limb, 
For just the soul he was, 
Nor see his body-flaws? 

"Oh for a life in yonder cloud 

Where the stars are dumb whose heart is loud 

In purple voice out of orange lips 

Just as the darkness dips. 

That I might be as they are there 

For high above the world and for fair 

As moon-tracks where my spirit walks. 

Where eternal silence talks, 

One cloud-life for one evening sail, 

To come and go and to never fail 

Of the orange-spot, purple stripe 

Ripening ever, never ripe. 

To gather sky and suns and moons 

Of climax, cycles of boons. 

Of orange-light so I let it fall 

Over the world and all ! 

Oh for my cloud to float upon 

After this conquered world is gone ! 



In a Bell-Tower 531 

My light, my spirit to come again 
My cloud is — 't will come and go 
In purple or orange glow- 
Across my sky forever so 
Beyond your human ken — 
Only its shadow walks with men," 

A church-bell tower in his village stood 

One furlong away, 

A tower he eyed with such hungry mood, 

While people would say: 

"What means the cripple: Look to him now 

At his plunge and hitch, 

Shrugging to make his shuffle or bow, 

One never knows which. 

Always an eye to the bell- tower pinned 

As if he would rise. 

Like one who one day dropped and sinned, 

To capture the skies!" 

Till one would ask, "Why so is your mind 

In the bell-tower there? 

What purpose now has your heart divined, 

Or what steeple-care?" — 

When this way he answered: "I would be, 

vSo far as I may. 

Far off from your poor proclivity 

Of life by the day 

To ape what only wallows and squirms 

By the body-trick, 

To play your game of crows and worms 

To tickle and pick ! 

Look what cluster of singing bells 

In your yonder tower, 

Tongues like whirlwinds of lofty spells 



532 In a Bell-Tower 



To scatter their shower 

Of song in yonder grasses among 

To rapture people, 

As if a soul were in every tongue 

Of the tuning steeple! 

High in your tower above I would live 

To brother the bells — 

They unloose their heart, neither ' but ' nor ' if, 

There the lintie swells 

His throat to join them in their ringing 

Against every wrong, 

Like all the world were up and flinging 

Its soul into song. 

Carry me now, oh carry me there 

By noble hand. 

Build me my nest in the bell-tower air 

Above men and land, 

That I may turn my soul into bells 

To give them my touch 

Shall wake a thought no one world tells, 

No song like it such ! 

I '11 shape the shape of your bell-tower tone 

Just under the sky, 

My life I '11 live in the tower alone 

To the end that I 

May tell my heart to the world in bells 

Just behind my screen, 

May send my soul into mountain dells, 

I never be seen, 

May pin my soul to my silver word 

And only be heard." 

IV 

So they took the cripple up. 



In a Bell-Tower 533 

Put him in their bell-tower cup, 
Took him at his honest word 
He should never more be seen, 
He should only be heard 
Back of his bell-tower screen. 
Soul-foremost to strike the air 
Into sparks and spasms of song, 
Rouse his world up everywhere, 
By rhapsody of his silver gong, 
To Beauty, just Beauty of soul — 
There 's high life at its highest goal ! 



Now in his tower he is sitting. 

Evening is part of the sky, 

Weary men too are sitting, 

Beginning to sleep or to die, 

Beginning to wonder what life is. 

What the value of strife is, 

To wonder if men are born 

Just to be wrinkled and torn, 

To wonder if soul climbs high 

Only to topple and die, 

When — now he was touching the keys, 

Out of the tower-top shot 

More than men ever caught, 

Whirlwinds of harmonies, 

Keen as the spark of a star. 

Deep as all heaven- ward blue, 

Tones of an infinite far 

To show you the soul in you, 

Sounds from so far away 

Like waves on another shore, 



534 In a Bell-Tower 

Men were communing to say 

Never was music before 

The like of it to seize the heart, 

Such was its sweet great masterpart, 

Such its new bosom of power 

To raise men to what is high, 

They saw soul never could die, 

They never doubted of life 

Or the value of strife, 

While as for their trust and longing 

They found in his gorgeous gonging, 

Never before was such wonder-songing ! 



VI 



In chapel below men were kneeling 

For fear of a God ; 

Women were ducking, appealing 

By qualmody, quobbing nod 

For mercy, for assistance. 

For the glory of non-resistance, 

— How the world is ruled by a rod !- 

Their noses pinned in a book. 

One way only they could look, 

One thing only they could see, 

What power is in Divinity, 

What powerlessness is in men 

To do or to think to be 

The whole of human supremity 

As men have been again and again! 

Now in a chapel for a jacket 

To shut Divinity out, 

To bow down to it, yet to lack it, 

Each man over-full of doubt 



In a Bell-Tower 535 

Of his own lordliness of power 

To whip a universe out, 

Each one doing his most to cower, 

Each one doing his best to squirm. 

Glorify God by playing worm, 

When — sudden the bells were singing 

Such song a man never heard, 

All the wild winds were ringing, 

Sky over sky was stirred. 

Leaf leaped to leaf in the hornet-briar, 

I saw the throstle duck his ear. 

Men were up, all hearts were higher. 

Men were up, their fight was clear 

Against any thought of God for fear — 

Men were up, each mellow blow 

Of the bells compelled them so — 

Of the bells — they jumped and jolted 

Each other all as tongues unbolted. 

But how they jumbled and sang. 

Oh how they tumbled and rang 

Their souls through the souls of men 

To be up, to be Gods again — 

Man to his feet to stand straight 

As a God to be great — 

Man to his heart to be true 

And to hold to it too — 

Man to his finger to point 

And to go, jaw and joint — 

Man to his throat to declare 

What is uppermost fair — 

Man to his best to be worth 

More than pebblesome earth — 

Man to his virtue to veer 

Beyond shadow of fear — 



536 In a Bell-Tower 

Man to his spirit to rise 
Over grass-path or skies! 



So rang the bells as there sat the cripple 

Like a God in his throne, 

To let his whole soul boom and ripple 

Each wonderment-tone 

Down to the people in church underneath 

Who stopped where they were, 

Stopped short of the wink of a breath to breathe 

A prayer or to stir, 

So were they captured, so raptured so 

By his song-bird spells 

Flinging their tongue-magic to and fro 

Like a forest of bells. 

They forgot to pray, forgot their seasons 

For ducking, for quobbing, 

They took no note of those ritual reasons 

Men have for throbbing. 

But up in arms for love of Beauty 

As now they heard it, 

For love of him whose love of duty 

Had touched and stirred it. 

There they were brought to their feet for straight 

As Gods are to rise, 

There they were brought to themselves to be great 

Beyond men who are wise, 

There they were held to a note which was high 

As the upheaving sky 

To beckon man up above earth to be 

What is Godfullest free, 

To show men a way above earth to do 

What is giantest true 



In a Bell-Tower 537 

For fear of nothing, for love of the test 
Puts men to their best 
Like my cripple now in his bell-tower there 
With his Beauty of soul, his body of care! 



Church out, the people gone, 

There was one remained. 

One village-girl, whom to look upon 

Man would think his Heaven was gained, 

Such sweet soul of such countless grace 

Nested in her open face 

As a man would not chance to see 

Once in a world of maidenry, 

Her new throat each word in it 

Like the revel of a linnet, 

And you so riveted there 

By each lilt of her and air 

Signing of such heart underneath, 

Men marvelled, forgot to breathe — 

Fortune might come or go 

And no matter, so they loved her so! 



The bells by their new masterstroke 

Took up ringing in her heart, 

As if their chimody meant to choke 

Soul back — she could take no part 

In pew-dance, in ducking to God; 

People halted to mark it odd, 

Such change in her, she so changed 

As clouds are gilded and rearranged 

When the sun is low and the winds have changed- 



538 In a Bell-Tower 

What was to think of her now she grew 
To listen only for her bells 
Whichever way each sweet wind blew 
To bring her their masterly spells, 
As all the most kind watchful people 
Remarked: her heart is in the steeple? 



IX 



Came she now to know each bell 
Harbored more than tongue could spell, 
Knew too this, how each fine ripple 
Spoke the finger of a cripple — 
"So much the more is he great," 
Thought she to herself; "shall I estimate 
My man by his fingers and toes, 
His shoulder-shape, his way he goes, 
His knuckledom or bobadil-whim. 
Not by what he is, what he knows. 
Not by the heart and soul in him? 
To the tower ! — there 's no other way 
—He will not descend to earth again — 
To the tower where his fingers play 
What the soul of a world would say, 
'Never God made a thing for vain' — 
To the tower in yonder air. 
To the mighty soul which is castled there ! ' 



Evening comes around, 

Sky is on the ground. 

Stars of dew in meadow-grass are swinging. 

Bobolink and cricket take turns at singing 



In a Bell-Tower 539 

For the tulip in the air, 
Mock-orange, purple pear. 
For such Beauty everywhere. 

How each bosom drums 

When the sentence comes 

To love, has its way of tuning into chiming. 

As if the heart were steadied and were climbing 

For some blossom in the air 

More than this world is fair. 

More than this life is anywhere! 

How a maiden's heart 

Leaps to stop and start 

At just a thought that there may be another, 

One dearer one than any friend or brother, 

Half the soul of her to be 

And best of her is he, 

More than all the world in fee ! 

What a care she keeps. 

Never speaks nor peeps 

To let you know a thought she has in keeping 

As softly to his heart her heart is creeping. 

Like a June wind turns to sighs 

Till lily-blossoms rise 

Reaching after perfect skies ! 

Here and now by spells 

Just his gentle bells 

Go tossing in her thought to do their ringing, 

Go hiding in her heart to do their singing 

Like a bellody of rhyme 

Bursting there to throb and chime — 

How they summoned her to climb 



540 In a Bell-Tower 

To the trumpet-tower, 

To the man of power 

Who rose above a world to do his souHng 

By melody of master- tongues for tolling 

How the hearts of men reach high 

As yonder roofs of sky 

Till they come there by-and-bye! 

To the tower to see 

What a man could be 

With not a body worth a wink of seeing, 

Yet all a soul all Beauty for all being, 

Like a galaxy of grace, 

Gem-work and planet-space 

Crouching in their hiding-place! 

Just to see him there 

In his field of air ! — 

Yet is a maiden timid about going. 

Lest people think her forward or too knowing — 

Tiny foolish world to think 

Hope is just a passing kink, 

Love is governed by a wink! 

For quickly she is there 

In the moon-made air 

Among his bells, next to him in his steeple, 

Where he looks down on what is small in people, 

On their pride of pelt and limb, 

Wordy bird, palate-whim — 

Could he ring them up to him? 

Looking in his eyes. 
Jewels made of skies, 



In a Bell-Tower 541 

Only soul she saw, triumphant being 

— And what is there but soul is worth the seeing? 

She stood looking in his eyes 

Behind his perfect skies 

Where the endless morrows rise. 

All the body-fault 

Of his bump and halt 

Were nothing to her now she took to seeing 

Such Beauty in him of transcendant being 

To conquer the things amiss, 

Such a shadow-world as this. 

All the blue star-spaces his. 

So he won her there 
To the upper air 

By what he was, such soul beyond her seeing, 
The sweet in him of supersensual being, 
By his threnody of love 
Beyond her and above — 
Soul is enough ! 



CONFIDENTIALLY 

I LOVED her — I don't mind telling you — 
You know her eyes were open blue 

And trustful to pleaful true 

Looking into the soul of you — 

Her hand like the wing of a swallow- 
To beckon, and oh how a man would follow! 

Her heart, never a word to speak. 

Writing all thought out at the cheek — 

One look and you knew she never knew 
Her gentle power over you — 
And so I loved her ! 

What for one morning it was 

For song and shower of sun 
In hedge-box — ^my prickly haws 

New needle-work had begun — 
My piemag made pretty sprunts 

To step on a dozen flowers at once — 
Against the red-end rocks 

Perched my Lipari-grape in flocks — 
Such a morning — and she 

There like a lotos-blossom bee 
To wing and sing for me, 

While scarcely once she took 
A thought my way or little look. 

Flitting where the oxeye cowers, 
542 



Confidentially 543 

Gifted as the gifted hours, 

My flower among the flowers! 
So now to tell her — no such time 

Might come again of such lintie-chime 
In bay-leaf and mistletoe 

To whisper to tell her so 
How I loved her — oh, what spell 

Fastens a man that he may not tell ! 

Gone was my courage, so 

I breathed easier to let it go — 
Small matter, as they say, 

I could tell her another day. 
When, plump at the garden-gate, 

Defiant and game-cock straight 
For mastership stood my rival mate — 

Next, as if she were already bride, 
There he was at her other side, 

She between us — there we walked — 
Well, you should have heard him how he talked 

His cheapery to flatter, 
His wash-up and honey-spatter 

Till I thought — well, no matter — 
Woman-like she could be 

Captured by his treaclery — 
I must lose her, she was for fair 

His prisoner in his hunting-snare — 
There flew his words like sugar-shot, 

I just lockjaw and spirit-not, 
I mere poverty of power 

To article a word that hour! 

Gewgaw — so I thought of him ! 

How could she make more than nought of him 



544 Confidentially 

With his summer fly-beak bu'zzing, 

His puff -up and collar-fussing? — 
There was I now deep-down jealous! 

What for a blow like that to fell us? 
Yet was he masterly straight and proud, 

Thought little and talked loud, 
None of the droop in him or dowd — 

So I said, she is his, 
Such men never fire to miss. 

Soon we came upon the lawn, 

A sheet of sun to walk upon, 
Then away to the gate. 

And I began to say it was late 
And time for me to go. 

And — then was one look she gave to me 
Men die for if only they can see. 

Her true great eyes of such pleaful glow 
As said to me, "Will you never know, 

Will you never know how my soul is true 
As yonder sky-beam is to you?" 



ADELYN, OR, HOW TO WIN HER 

I 
Lover 

What a pretty girl ! 

Such her olive face 

Under lock and curl 

As I want and chase 

For the gloss of pearl, 

For her nod of grace; 
Only of her face I keep me thinking. 
Her look like heaven when all the stars are blinking. 

Friend 

How to win her? Why, forget to try! 

Stop your thinking about the prize 

Hangs there in her velvet eyes ! 

Your last time you heard her sigh 

She was not longing for you. 

But for what you should come to to be and do. 

Lover 

Mind each auburn tress 
Whispers at her brow 
Like a tongue to confess, 
By one solemn vow, 

5 545 



546 Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 

She shall not be less 

Than I see her now, 
My flower in my yonder garden clinging 
Among the moon-beds where her wrens are singing. 

Friend 

But how to win her? Will you think 

To trap her like a meadowink 

By your throat of rose, your breast of pink? 

Put an ear to her to see 

She is more than melody ! 

Put an eye to her to know 

She is more than orchards blow ! 

Have a thought of her for what 

Is rose-most in her soul of thought, 

Has feeling for a friend. 

Is mighty to comprehend 

Life holds purpose beyond an end ! 

Lover 

Ah, but there she is, 

All to see and touch, 

Lips not meant to miss. 

Brow, none like it such, 

Eyes to close and kiss, 

Neck and cheek to clutch. 
My primrose for my having and folding 
As April has all summer in his holding. 

Friend 

Ah, but how to win her? 
April is but beginner, 



Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 547 

Summer has another mind, 

Has left her April behind; 

More than April ever meant 

Is summer in her firmament ! 

You look to see what pink may speak 

Or slumber there at her cheek ; 

You look to capture such joys 

As bells in her morning voice, 

Suns in those horizon-eyes 

Which draw you to look beyond 

Where eternal spirit lies 

Out of reach of knuckles and bond. 

Have a look to see 

The best of her, my friend, 

What she is come to be 

More than her ribbon-end, 

Or boxberries you dazzle at 

Plumping their toe-dance in her hat. 

Lover 

What a wealth is hers 

Of summerly throat, [ 

Like a May wind purrs 

For a thrush to quote, 

Like a cloud-lark stirs 

To his highest note 
To join the wind in a summer ringing 
As if all heaven were a harvest of singing. 

Friend 

But to win her! How to compass that? 
More is for you to be edging at 



548 Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 

Than beetle-burnish to gloss your hat, 
Than an eye to your peaks of shoes, 
As if, to be plain, instead 
Of her taking you for heart and head, 
You give her just feet to choose ! 
More is for you to grow 
Than head-light, than tricks to know- 
Some gain- way to come and go, 
More to be gotten to for power 
Than flies climb by their flap of an hour! 
Have all power in you to see 
Man was meant to rise to be 
Up above gadfly-kingdomy 
To come to one monument-throne 
God-fashion just to rule alone. 
That way you shall win her — that way, 
Never by your boot and hat-way. 
Look not to see if she be looking. 
Put not an eye to her to see 
How your chance in her heart is cooking — 
Only you look to do, to be 
Mostwise and ghostwise — hold to your yearning 
To get above life's liver-churning. — 
Lives are many, death is soon, 
Always will come another June, 
So lash your world to some lasting moon ! 

Lover 

What an e3^e she has, 
What a lip to kiss! 
If I let her pass. 
Then the question is 
Who will get the lass 
And the lip and kiss? 



Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 549 

An eye is an eye, as meant for winking, 
All in spite of your stilted thinking. 



Friend 

An eye is an eye, was meant to see; 

Soul is soul, was meant to be! 

She shall follow you, mark you that, 

Straight to what you level at 

So beauty be the thing in view. 

All the dancing gems in you 

To capture her by what you are. 

Like as the glow-shine of a star 

Captures me from never so far 

By one strip of ivy-green, 

By one dot of reddish-best, 

While nothing is to be seen 

Of the rib in it or saltpetre-breast. 

How to win her is not to try, 

Be your whole heart and the rest 

As the zenith suns are high 

To circum-compass their lordliest 

And she shall follow, 3^ou shall find her — 

What soul ever left her soul behind her? 



Years and years are gone by — 

See how they bubble to fly. 

Yet print not a wrinkle in their sky ! 

She went her way, would not be had 

For the tune in her or maple-plaid ; 

Would not be valued for what 

I get in lapwing or cactus-pot; 



550 Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 

Was more, by what she knew of herself, 

Than pictures in the skirt of an elf — 

Went her way, forgot his talk 

About her dimples and pheasant- walk ; 

Forgot his moth-way he took 

To have her for her touch and look 

Like the lap-wings of a book. 

Knowing, as she knew so well. 

More was of her than asphodel 

May mirror in its sepulchre-cell — 

More, and he could not see it 

For his blindness, albeit 

Such spirit-life, by perfect trace, 

Hung rare pictures in her face; 

Such was his littleness of view 

He saw only her pink and blue 

New features, just her veil to hide 

Soul from him and heart inside. 

What for a man is a jobbernowl 

To go cock-eyed, to limp and prowl, 

Live on darkness like an owl ! 

He could see her girlhood-chin 

Curve an S for him out and in. 

Could idle to watch her nostrils breathe, 

Knew her laughter meant pearls for teeth, 

And so on — never stopped he to know 

What lightened, darkened, levened her so 

Was soul, which was the whole of her, 

The over-shining soul of her. 

He too was gone his way; 
Nought was to do or say 
Beyond what he had said — 
Makes each man his unique bed. 



Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 551 

Being apart from her he could see 
Only the one sublimity, 
Just his one chance to be 
Himself for all his mightiest, 
Make his whole soul manifest 
For what there lay in him to do 
Above fly-flight, tweedling cockatoo — 
Now not a look from her nor beck 
Nor clinging lips to hold him in check! 
On he went gaining greater 
Power by having noble cause. 
Lived his life for most he was — 
The first of a man comes later, 
Spirit seizes new wings, new props, 
All as fast as body drops, 
So is he ripened and high-souled 
Just by crumbling and growing old. 



So they parted — years went by, 

Half a century at least; 

They gathered wrinkles, their cheeks went by, 

They were thinking of how to die 

As body lessened while soul increased. 

When — Now I come to that part 

Has to do with soul and heart: 

One day, like those fly-away days 

Which sport so now the tune-bird plays 

In box-plant at his roundelays, 

One such day like that it chanced 

To be curiously circumstanced 

They should meet — I know the place. 

All of a lemon-flower grace 

In one open shut of wincsap trees 



552 Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 

Which set their net for birds and bees, 

All as a rose will build its closet, 

So pink and snug and perfect was it — 

There they met in the same one spot 

Once they christened Forget-Me-Not — 

Neither looked to the other to see 

Pink in the cheek, light in the eye; 

Neither of power more than to be. 

Each could whisper only the sigh, 

The one word soul has, one last breath 

Of yielding and welcome to death 

Which was cheek to cheek with each of them, 

The world most out of reach of them — 

Passion-time in tree-green booth. 

Each rush-lily look of youth 

Were gone — only were there 

In the brow of each, put everywhere, 

Finger-mark of kindness and care, 

One far-off look, as if they saw 

One thing higher worth looking for 

More than squab-life to bill and coo, 

To count the feathers and ambigu; 

More than plump white forearm to clutch, 

As if soul focused in sight or touch ! 

Only the one look of them was there. 

So much heart to it underneath 

As captured scarce a lip to breathe, 

One thought to utter — everywhere 

Was silence, only the vireo 

Tuned his throat to rapture so 

I thought he was trying to say 

What they could not — such wonderway 

He took to perform his part, 

Such overflow of wide wild heart: 



Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 553 



Youth no more, 

Only age, 

Yet mark the score 

How it crowds the page, 

How the leaves are thin, 

Finger- worn, 

Spotted and torn 

Where you begin 

To think the song 

Is fading too, 

As all along 

The avenue 

Of notes the blight 

Is through and through 

To tax the sight 

And lip of you, 

Till one full day 

You shall hear 

Your same notes play 

New and clear, 

Climbingly strong 

As they were then. 

For here is your song. 

In the wind again ! 

Now he saw her for what she was, 
Not the sunrise-cheek to hide 
Soul from him or heart inside ; 
Little body thin as a gauze 
Time now covered white and blue 
As all clear heaven looks to you — 
Only her spirit glistened through - 
Such a look of love of him 
As only soul may purpose to 



554 Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 

When sight falters, light is dim. 
All for one perfecter view 
Look where I hang this drop of dew 
In the sun of a summer mom 
To see how soon my gem is gone, 
Yet never the warmth it died upon! 
Stood he there, had grown so great 
That not one look could hesitate 
To show her he was come to be 
More than she could touch or see, 
More than thunder-light, planet-stir, 
Yet all human and all for her. 

So many years grew them both new, 

The while they grew, as men say, old; 

She saw him now to be fair, true, 

As I see any blossom unfold 

Its handsomest just at the last 

After stalk and leaves are past. 

They two now so one together 

As not to think the boy-thought whether 

Soul could perish or they could find 

More beyond than is left behind, 

More in all the eternal yet 

Than teeth seize, gullets get. 

Seeing they love so and are one 

Only now when their life is done 

And over — shall the best be lost, 

Nothing come of all it cost, 

When just to love and be great 

Make each highest kind of state 

I get out of this wheeling earth? — 

Shall something become nothing worth 

While what I know of or see 



Adelyn, or, How to Win Her 555 

Everywhere 'round or over me 
Make parcel of one eternity? 
Two souls and now wholly one, 
Soul grown greater than aught before. 
Body wholly-most past and done, 
Soul out-reaching for more and more, 
Body no more than turning-spit, 
Soul too large to be stuck to it — 
Two souls now so wholly one 
As not to question how or whether 
More was to be than they had done, 
Ready to face sweet death together — 
Shall death cut short what God begun? 

Soul knows — trust you that! 
Knows a way of coming at 
Always and always what is best 
Of life and death and all the rest, 
Oh, wonderful supra-mental guest! 



MOON FIELDS, OR MAN THE GOD 

Now comes a strip of light 

To split my gem in two: 
If I get the angle right 

I get a strip of blue — 
A different dip instead 

And I have a shape of red — 
So is the soul in you 

To get a shape and hue 
As it dartles through, 

Get form and power and size 
Out of feet and pain and eyes. 

Prologue 

My moon, not yours, nor any triune- 
God-lorded or Paul-Petered moon 
In wrinkles, nor plaster-of- Paris set 
To mould people to a one-sphere limit — 
Nor fly-trap moon where a thing to do 
Was to closet spirits before they grew 
To a wing-like God in the over-blue, 
Clap a soul in to lop and trim it — 
Nor weak-ankled moon, no mind to stalk 
Above cockpits of chyme and chalk — 
Nor weak-eyed moon which may not see 
Further than moon-hypertrophy — 
But my moon, put plump like an eye 
For fair in the brow-place of the sky 
556 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 557 

To pick white light up, fling it bold 

Through shadow, like a splash of gold — 

My moon, where I lived to make 

Most of moonlight, put soul at stake 

In gorges of fire for teeth 

To chew heart out, let man not breathe 

Before he captured the right to 

By fighting for higher life to fly to — 

My master-moon to start with 

I fought so, and lastly mastered 

To death, the still face alabastered. 

Which, needs I must, I 'm loth to part with, 

My old new moon which ground me in two 

For one purpose just, to see me through 

To mastership and a conqueror's clutch 

On new life, by deeper breath. 

For chance to bellow and grin at death. 

You earth-people hold to your thinking 

This moon could never show one place 

Worth men again, one fine great race 

For picking light up, for drinking 

Space in, worlds, soul, freedom 

To mount above cockpits, sting- winkle shoals 

Which mumble to some Holy See-dom, 

An eyrie for broods of souls 

To fly from, once they master wings 

To fly best where the thistle stings. 

One one-faced moon, my moon, 

Of lips thinnest, of mightiest jaws. 

Where I could hear the daw-cock croon 

To sputter in an eagle's paws — 

Men were matchless since life was wars; 

No two-faced moon with an inkling 

For prelate- winks, brow- wrinkling, 



558 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

But just my clean free open moon 
Caught listening to a lip of June. 



My uncle's castle hung drooping out 

On a chin of quartz, like a lazy lip 

Curled under one wide mountain-rip 

To scorn me — there was drowsy pout 

About it, each window pane 

Picked up each new sun- down stain 

To fling it straight back at the sky 

With the clean round snap of an eagle's eye. 

So set was it in the upper rock 

Of one shade and grain, block for block, 

I could scarce tell, in clear noon air. 

If there was any castle there 

More than what looked like a graft 

Of mother-trap — just mountain-shaft. 

So was it sculptured in vast days back 

Of all recording — my moon-made race 

Was panther-hearted, took not one trace 

Of soft side to it, not a spirit-smack 

Of warm-bloodedness, lived to spill 

Each other, lived to get their fill 

Of life, which was all there was of it 

Men thought worth a clam to covet. 

Each feared the other, each built his cell 

Like a bunch of ledge — one could not tell 

Coping or trench of it or roof 

From the hornblende which leaped aloof. 

Much as a chipmunk will invest 

In tanpits, since they hide him best. 

My race was moon-mastered, began 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 559 

Like most races, in a darklish way, 

To pick power up, promulgate man, 

By little first — first came display 

Of porgy-jaw, of zoril-zip. 

Of fang- whistle without the lip, 

One straight pick-up-from-nothing plan 

By which a race leaps from bad to better 

Till man now came to be so much 

The same as a lobster's paw, all clutch. 

One kind of purely belly-getter. 

My moon-people, like your earth-race, 

Claimed their wonted quog-hog birthplace, 

Made way up through steep of mud 

To cooler head, warmer blood; 

Sinew first, then brain for fightiness 

To compass world-power, moon-mightiness, 

Much as in your bondage-earth 

The thing which once was least and worst 

Made your beginning, came first. 

Like darkness gives the star-beams birth. 

Each one of my race fought his way 

By vast endeavor, by little hope 

To more than snufiE his way or grope 

To get his shin-bones laid away 

To keep the peace forever. By gain, 

Joy, mastery, pitfalls, pain, 

Some held on, some would blunder, 

While whether or no they kept their doubt 

Or stuck to faith to fight it out. 

All the bonded swarm went under. 

See how all things so must die 

Which float about the mooned sky : 

Men or moons, moonbeams as well. 

Know two things which they could tell. 



56o Moon Fields, or Man the God 

And both of them in a breath — 

They Hve their Hfc, they die their death. 

What say then, once the stars unbend, 

Are all things over, is there the end? 

Are worlds meant to be undone, 

Is nothing meant to come of it, 

The whole vicegerent sum of it 

Nothing, and so much begun? 

My moon was peopled by my people, 

Grass-plot was there, little pinches 

Of powderdom, little inches 

Of frost-bite, sun-smack — there the steeple 

Which points into yonder super-hollow 

Where all may look, none may follow; 

Just your very shop was there, 

Your village-pump for garden-care 

Of pyrola, gentian — the town-clock square 

With bells to whistle their chime 

In the face of high-handed time. 

Each thing took on shape for worth 

Much the same as in your earth; 

Generation upon generation 

Grew one kind of adoration 

For life, joy, nought beside. 

Bowed heart and head down and died 

When the last clutches at gain were spent — 

Now only these hills for monument ! 

I caught one crystal — the clear stone knew 
A way to pull a moonbeam through 
To spill it into cherry or blue. 



One thing you should understand 
About moon matters and moon land: 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 561 

The end was come, there was small picking 

For man or beast, the air was thin. 

Fields pinched up like a wrinkled skin, 

The whole land pallorly to sicking. 

As if the globe were choked by swallowing 

So many races, so took to wallowing, 

Vomited cinders till one would have said 

They were the ashes of the dead. 

If men died, so died their moon, 

Quite as slowly, all as soon; 

Thin air, hard heat, harder cold 

Called halt; the race was gone 

To where 't was harder to be born 

Than die, if truth were told. 

So it happened, by sickening time, 

Men died out ; just this one 

Is left to swing about the sun 

To tell his story of fire and rime. 



Til 



One household just was saved. 
My uncle's castle, which pouted out 
At all the hell and havoc about, 
At poppy flatfields now paved 
By sulphur-cake, melted ledge, 
From where it sticks out like a wedge 
In a rift of high Petavius. 
Our castle held just five of us : 
My uncle's ward, new Natalie, 
Pink cheeks tied to blue eyes 
For glow-lights in morning skies 
I rushed to, all as a boy 
All in his throat and all joy, 
36 



562 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Just as any bee will straight 
To melon-bell to circulate 
About the yellow, strike his pick 
At the lip to get the honey-lick. 
What a Natalie, too, she was 
Those young days I knew her for what 
Was heart-romp with scarce a thought. 
Clear Beautiness for never cause 
Soul could purpose — silver fingers 
To twist her locks as May-sweet air 
Plays in the playful grass — to snare 
My heart — how thought of it lingers ! 
One would think, to see her by a stream 
Which held her image underneath, 
Think the surface tried to breathe 
Yet could not, as if stich dream 
Of Beauty snatched away the air 
Now the soul of Psyche wandered there. 
My uncle's sister was next — our matron; 
One could have taken her for patron, 
So much she was master, on the plan 
Women most fly to, to play the man. 
Mostly her way of coming at you 
Was not to win, but to outdo 
You at any doing, thinking, 
Pleased could she see a little shrinking. 
'Spite of her mouth-lack, mink face, 
Back-slope of her pea-size head 
Scarce accountable for what she said, 
Much was about her of human grace 
And kindliness — one way she had 
Of finding in you good, not bad 
To hold to over and above, 
Fishing by cute sorts of bait 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 563 

For a mouthful of your love 

For which she would angle and bob and wait, 

Brings her back to me, the best of her — 

Now she is gone, what counts the rest of her? 

Then there was cunning Clacky — 

Prince was he not, nor lacky, 

But one round all-natured man 

My uncle fastened to years back. 

Liked him mostly for this: his walk 

Beat one level tick like a clock 

He told time by, so named him Clack. 

More than one could think he was bent up 

To roundabout from head to heel, 

Hooped in so as a Surrey-wheel 

As if to keep his spirit pent up 

Lest it should 'scape him; at his eyes 

There was blaze, while just the while 

Men saw him waddle, crab-end-wise, 

There would come his humor-bubble, 

A rough wind in a bunch of stubble. 

Chuckle mostly mouth, no smile! 

Under his jacket, albeit, you 

Found good in him — he was clever too. 

With one weakness, the unknown sex 

He ciphered at, so wrote it X, 

While where there was aught to decide 

* Twixt man and woman in a chatter, 

The man might have the best of the matter, 

Yet there he stood, on the woman's side! 

Stomach mounted high in his rating, 

Clam-land, ways of vegetating — 

You to your moonshine, sunny spots; 

For him a dash at the honey-pots; 

One roundabout man, as I have said. 



564 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Who booked books, was potpie read, 
So wore all kinds of doubtful head. 
He was of use, to my uncle at least, 
If joy just to see the rascal feast. 
My uncle is not so simple to tell you : 
Lord head was he the country 'round, 
Sky-scrapdng eye, hold on the ground, 
So, if he spoke it would be well you 
Marked tiine — no joy in shirking 
The day you caught his top lip jerking. 
Justice — there was his pretty theme 
He pinned to — just to be just. 
To do the right because he must, 
Made his pro- profitable scheme. 
This he held : there goes one law 
Compels an oughtness — I might not do 
Right because I wanted to 
For love of it, for there he saw 
Power in back of a universe 
To bend to, else men capture curse; 
I must low-bow me to Might 
Before I come to know a bit, 
Manage me to grow a wit, 
Come to be master fully right. 
Life, to his thinking, is all given 
To capture earth, purchase Heaven; 
So was it that to gain his end 
He was just, would play the friend, 
Play kind, too, play masterful good, 
Nor throb in it, nor bosom-mood; 
As when I notice how this moon 
Scoops up sky like a silver spoon 
Full of fire, as the thing would seem. 
While I drink from it, beam by beam. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 565 

There comes to me this: the face is fair, 

Yet no breast under it anywhere, 

Only the cool clear head is there. 

There was level peace-brow unctionary 

Sweet about him to make one think 

Soul could leap from a lip or wink 

Of such epaiileted functionary. 

Meant he right for this: he thought 

'T was coin, while Heaven was to be bought. 

Yet right he was, mark you that! 

Right was his game he levelled at 

And no miss — ^so there was his claim 

To mightiness in fact and fame. 

Far as he went one could not say 

He could be nobler so or stronger 

In his snudgy leaf -beetle way — 

Would he had lasted to me longer! 



He taught me the value of Right, 

To be noble for an end in sight. 

So reasoned he: this soul has value 

To knock at gates, one thump of cash, 

So he would ask not "Are you?" but "Shall you?' 

' ' Shall you succeed in one life-long clash 

To get your bosomful, fat and laughter, 

Get the worth of your sotil hereafter?" 

He taught me the value of Right, 

Never love of it — not once that ! — 

Life and power and worlds in sight 

For me to try to be clutching at 

For love of them, not for love of what 

They could make me, soul and thought 



566 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

To down or to put all gain aside 

Ere they came part of my shank and hide. 

Love of Right — not once that — 

My one point I 'm hitting at: 

Man may not step to spirit-plane 

If he put first foot out for gain. 

Mark, he made for right — so he was 

Giant in his cubbard cause, 

Since he could see no more than this : 

Here was moon- wealth to be got, 

Was one way to lose, another to not, 

Nought was put in moons to miss, 

Only what he bought was his, 

So all things flourished price 

From groundsel to golded skies: 

Power over moon and men — his sight 

And his wisdom this: Heaven comes of Right. 

Far as he conjured he made good. 

King-man he in moonful mood 

Bent upon getting what he could 

As compensation for right-doing — 

How he kept the village brewing! 

Heaven comes of Right — so much is right — 

No dodging that dictum-height! 

See now how he stuck to his text. 

What came of it, what happened next! 



Oh, what pretty morning one morning 
A cloud lopped over the castle wall 
To drop there like a yellow pall ! 
Or, shall I say, as an August awning 
Pitched southerly and so spread 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 567 

As to knock the sun off overhead? 

Soon I was up one mountain path 

Leading to where the bay-leaf leaps 

To get his sun-rub of amber bath — 

I took a way the ibex keeps 

For constant climbing, high as he can, 

Because he is afraid of man — 

I caught his feeling, somehow I knew 

'T was safer where the eagles glue 

Their prongs to peaks to ride a blast out 

Than I take my chances among men 

Of being picked and plucked and cast out — 

I angled for cistus, for citron-buds 

Which tie the trees like links of studs — 

And just so armed, while just so full 

Of joy as boy once out of school 

I came plunging through thorn, gorse, 

To castle- wall where one tree was, 

For there just between tree and wall, 

Snug under her canopy overhead 

Once purple, now half-ended red, 

Where the ring-hawk safely flew 

To rub his wing at a leaf of dew. 

Was Natalie — she knew my coming 

As a pear-flower knows the humming 

Of a honey-fly — I rushed to her so 

With my loud heart of Juney glow, 

Just as you, once you were young, 

Great soulfuls which could not be sung, 

Lighted at her lip, then at her eyes 

To swallow her smile, all as a shrike 

Plunges at heaven all-over-like 

To pick the cheek-red in his skies — 

My Natalie, how I held her there 



568 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

For such love of her, she so fair 

As any pearl perched in her hair 

I tangled, never to forget 

Such glow-dance in such fire-new net — 

Held her and held her, printed each cheek 

With spirit to the temple-peak, 

All the keen fine while was she 

Passing her sweet soul back to me 

Till I was sure I held in my hand 

The wild flower of all Happy Land. 

What is heart, oh ! what is heart 

That will sneer so, that will bite so, 

Love so deep, then unite so. 

To outgrow growth, break ranks and part? 



Off to my story and brief enough : 

My uncle wanted her — scarcely for love. 

Since he was so old he would rather, 

For love of God, have been her father. 

All in spite of this he wanted her; 

I knew well he dogged and haunted her, 

Would shin the mountain to bring her bay 

Or buckeye, trundled a passion 

To fringe her skirt, moss-pink fashion, 

To tempt her to turn to look his way ; 

Hung twin brilliants at her ears 

To spatter like a pair of tears — 

While she — 't was not too hard to see 

She wore her own head, so wanted me. 

Childless was he, was without wife. 

Wanted issue to prolong his life 

After he was gone, a son to grace 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 569 

His lawn-spot, wear his hat and face; 

Who should blame him, who would not see 

Himself sprout new, the old tree shoot 

Finer branches to point one path 

Higher than the mudded root 

To where one keener sun is sunning. 

To where the sunstone stars are running 

For more than this poor planet hath? 

Clacky knew well my uncle's way, 

How he would do, what he would say 

If he dared, so would tell to me 

What he heard, all he could see 

Of how my uncle was in a mood 

To get the girl for himself if he could. 

How I loved her Heaven knew ; 

Nought for me in the moon beside ; 

God might be great, man be true, 

Nought was to think, less was to do 

If I could not have her for soul and bride. 

So how to manage to put him off? 

To get an old-time uncle to doff 

His ward, whom he thinks to own, 

Give her to you, live his life alone, 

Was most like trying to clip 

The white sweet out of a lily-lip. 

To Clacky I put it — this my plan: 

— To find my way I shall know my man — 

My uncle kept the one aim in sight, 

One thing to do and the only one 

Which comes to profit under the sun: 

What he should do must be wholly right. 

Clacky should see him, tell him of it, 

How I loved her, how such love 

Comes first in things below, above — 



570 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Right makes the only way of profit. 

Yet you must all whiles understand 

My uncle's soul was aimed at gain 

To him in this or other land, 

So, to put the whole matter plain, 

He stood for doing as near to right 

As he could see by his pig-sty sight. 

So it happened Clacky came at him 

Soon as he found his eye chatoyant, 

His belly big, spirit buoyant, 

One plump hour to stroke and chat him — 

Clacky, his forefinger put close 

To his greenstick-fracture nose 

He boasted because it showed a bent — 

Laid the case out pretty plain 

How we were one, just we two. 

One heart-rush to one lip-intent, 

Love just, never thought of gain — 

How more than all of this he knew 

That to use his wealth of wit to part us 

Might get the girl, would not unheart us — 

How all things living go to prove 

Luck comes not by crushing love 

For gain to you, by way of pelf. 

To get another's love for yourself — 

How he must, therefore, once to win, 

Strike fire for not one spark of sin — 

So brought my uncle to his thinking 

So he could, leastways, begin to see 

My Natalie was made for me 

And small use of his minne-blinking. 

More than this above all he saw 

One way to get his moon-share full 

And sky-life after of a gull. 

Was to live his days without a flaw. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 571 



VII 



You must know this was before 

Moon grew ashes, shintangle frore; 

When land-lap spread, mountain knees 

Lifted pea-shoot, penoplume trees 

To a point of wild yellow grace 

In grass-acre growth, qua-bird quaff 

In honey-blob for a lip of laugh, 

And all was one mellow garden-place. 

Our castle lay in a lush of such, 

Amethystine plum, arrowy grass; 

There was blue melon overmuch. 

Cornelian poppy for a touch 

Of beautiful eye which the linnet has. 

My uncle was king in his mountain-hatch, 

Poked bee-like into garden-patch 

For lavender, opopanax; 

Country-folk, horizon 'round, 

Turned his turf up ; man and hound 

Swallowed his law down, paid him tax. 

Fat he grew there, grew what belly 

Shook like a lump of royal jelly 

Over his bottleful, Farnese quaff, 

Till valleys off I could hear him laugh. 

All which he took for clear net profit 

Of virtue — there was his view of it 

In firm according with his creed: 

Play right if you would stuff your greed. 

Wealth to him who knows all right 

To do it with his mountain-might 

Was half of him; his other half 

Kept bottle-time to wheeze and laugh. 

Should his craw-pit jump alive. 



572 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Castle glass would flicker bright 

As fire-points out of sodden night, 

All inside like a honey-hive 

Was flutter, one school of bees 

To pick and sting and eat and sneeze 

Their maggot-life out, think it sweet 

To go gut- ward — soul lives to eat! 

Once things went his way he was brave 

As grave-diggers who dig a grave 

For neighbor yonder, nor stop to think 

They stand there too on the brittle brink. 

Long as luck lasted he was great 

As men are, after the level run 

Of such as fear their lot may be late 

Or never under each clocky sun. 

To lose all was another matter 

Woiild make his iron back teeth chatter. 

See how he went, now the shift came, 

This power-house man of toppy name, 

See what became of his creed 

That virtue is a thing men need 

As shekels potted in a shop 

To purchase Fate by trick of swap. 

Long as luck lasted I could keep 

My Natalie, since he was gaining 

By what he lost, as I was explaining — 

What he sowed, that he should reap ! 

There was his genius of man-magic — 

See if the end turned glad or tragic ! 



I slope my crystal to let slip through 
Another streak of white or two — 
I have a new blaze, the end is blue. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 573 



VIII 



Sudden, all as a fire-tongue leaps 

From cloud which droops, lazily sleeps, 

Came belching of yellowing smoke 

From out our moon, through which there broke 

Great laps to overlaps of fire 

Which melted mountains, roasted mire 

Into one yellow-breasted paste 

Of moon-melt — I could see 

Rivers of it begin to wind 

Like tongue-licks across one waste 

Of happy country, as if one sea 

Of fire emptied on us streaks 

Like clouds do, once the Ughtning leaks. 

Think of your earth opening to spew 

Red ashes, your hills to pelt 

Sky with star-balls, your rock to melt 

To plaster fields, make lakes of glue 

Where once the poppy-lily blew — 

Think of each living thing to fiy 

In ashes to blot out a sky — 

Hot fog to break — one mouth of powder 

To chew each last hope into chowder — 

Far as you could know, each cleft 

Of water-fern, flock of sparrows 

To pass out through the narrow narrows, 

You just in your eyrie left 

Above the wild blast there to perch 

Mid-air, a whole world in the lurch — 

My word for it, my affidavit, 

There the truth is— there you have it ! 

Right where my man once garden-cared 

For asclepias, nut-leaf crop, 



574 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

I saw men's cinders pinch and hop 

Till never a breath was spared. 

So high up were we, so tucked 

Our castle was inside one arm 

Of hornblende, the blue fire sucked 

In under us and around us. 

Put out each fork of jointed palm 

To find, yet never found us. 

So saved, as I have said before, 

I and my uncle and his sister 

And my Natalie and our Clacky, 

Compromise 'twixt prince and lackey, 

Never one of us scored a blister. 



IX 



That much was my uncle nipped. 

Ground cut under him, wings clipped; 

Scarce a nanny-drupe to be had, 

Nor pinch of wind to keep life going. 

Nor oddy-doddy, good or bad. 

Small reaping where was so much sowing. 

Night closed thick about the mountain, 

Just such kind of pitchfork night 

As comes to blast, stays to blight — 

Not any more my bubble-fountain 

Of over-joy could tie new knots 

Of dew-fall into silver spots — 

Not any more, like heretofore. 

Should tree-lark hark to catch his score 

Or to pitch his wildest new key 

From the songing throat of my Natalie — 

Not any more will I walk abreast 

Of stars which shine the titling's nest 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 575 

Till my fine siren sing his best. 

This was it: there was no knowing 

Life again as I once knew it ; 

No place more was left for growing 

Hope again where once I grew it. 

From night-pit to sun-dawn morn 

There was no more — mountains were tilted, 

Continents were dropped and wilted, 

No moon-map now all place was gone. 

So to come to our point pregnant, 

How my uncle now would take it 

To see his Moon what hell could make it, 

Fire-worm uppermost and regnant 

Till what he saw made swamp of fire. 

Never an inch which an acrospire 

Could find to shoot in : you well know 

How men are governed by what they grow — 

Here was this man with his creed 

That men are measured by what they need, 

That life and that all I get 

Are compensation, ledger-net 

For clean performance to make most 

Out of what each performance cost; 

Yet there he stood, face against luck 

Of skull and bones, topmost worst, 

As if creation had been curst. 

He, my uncle, had been kind 

To gentle as a summer wind, 

True to each touch — no man knew 

How to be leveller or more true; 

Beside which he put, prohatum est, 

His shoulder to do his level best. 

How would he take it now he saw 

Puff-ball in quid-pro-quolic law? 



576 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Saw how, small matter if he trued 

His life up to his best he could 

For gain, that loss of world ensued? 

How, do as he might the thing to do 

For gain just, do his most he knew. 

He found this one thing mastiff true : 

New fight was on — he must strike 

For more mightiness just to swing 

New blows against the evil thing 

Heart-first, more man-fashion-like; 

How not the thing he is after, 

Gold-clutching, pot of laughter, 

Make any high kind of an end 

Moon keeps in thought, but a way to bend 

Life to noblement, put soul in plan 

For moulding one first supremest man? 

How would he take it once he saw 

Higher than compensation-law? 

Here lay his one platform-thought 

On which to stand : man is to earn 

Reward of merit by each new turn 

He gives to virtue, come to learn 

God-great greatness is sold and bought! 

So, so soon as his day came 

He should see his country ravished. 

Moon-land bundled into flame 

Wheresoever once was lavished 

Tree-lush, sugar-berry Juning, 

Dawn-birds at their steeple-tuning. 

He thought how he was face to this, 

By vulgar order of proper reason: 

All power is one consummate treason 

Against man, life is meant to miss. 

Virtue to have triumphal reward 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 577 

Of always the overhanging sword; 

Labor is vain, the thing he took 

For Beauty fell to the huntsman's hook ; 

One tin-god series of cheap divining 

To reap wrinkles and whining and pining. 

Take what way he would to handle 

Feast or dance or trumpet-dandle, 

He found the play not worth the candle. 

Fought he for gain, for profit. 

So, soon saw there was nothing such, 

Saw hell held him in its clutch. 

So reasoned: there comes nothing of it. 

Virtue, righteousness, spirit-might, 

More than any pigeon-flight 

A thumb-length above his trees 

To pick crumbs out of the sorrow-breeze. 

Drop to tuck his wings in over night. 

As man reasons to think it out, 

Life inside him and about, 

So is his make-up, so he makes hope, 

Or fear; so by trying to grope 

He learns his sweep of elbow-scope 

In one small world, finds his great plan 

To measure measure by the man. 

Always and just about as near 

As man gets truth to think it clear 

Life is one crop of hope and fear. 

So, once my uncle fairly dropped 

Hope out of him, now his crest was cropped, 

Seeing, as I saw so plain, 

No way was open to profit-gain. 

Let us see how he took his creed 

That life is just for gain and greed 

And measurement by what I need : 



57^ Moon Fields, or Man the God 



In my mountain high up — 

Now where no daisies 

Play, no maize is — 

Pokes a lip out like a cup 

Where my uncle took to combing 

Thought out just at gloaming, 

Would sit there, would try to pick 

New threads up, trick by trick, 

Wallow in thought and in vain 

To see if he could clinch 

Some purpose in his brain 

To live for, if half an inch 

Or littler in his vast domain. 

One must know we were alone 

As stars are, each in his pitfall zone, 

We five just, never another 

Hairy airy beast or brother, 

Never a morning glory 

Beyond our castle to tell 

One hot side of our story, 

How we lived in a Moon of Hell. 

Having once lost all his faith 

In all things save only death. 

My uncle, as men do, let go 

His hand from purpose, gave way 

To such mellow maudlin pew-gog, 

To such droolery each day. 

Dropped his soul-man-side so 

I could see the dew-fog 

Fill his face, see mador 

Streak his cheek like a river-adder 

Because he could not see 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 579 

Beyond his Moon in space 

Any other time or place 

Where he could come to be 

Power afresh to conquer pain, 

Make for pig-eye gain again. 

Once the man in him is gone, 

What counts man for building on? 

One morning stood up sharp and clear 

As starlight in a huntsman's spear; 

I went wandering just to know 

How far up beyond above 

One could gather quill or clove. 

Find if sweet maudlin would grow 

In such closets of fire and snow 

When I came upon the cup. 

My uncle there, fine feathers up. 

While just beside him and new 

As a tree-bud which means to glue 

A drupe to the stalk from which it grew 

For gratefulness, was my Natalie, 

Whom he was cheek to, was plying 

For sweet, as the summer-flying 

And glistening of any bee 

'Round his branch of basil — she 

Nested in her lemon flowers 

Like a wren in crocus cowers — 

Her clean soft eye-look I saw 

Pour full at him, never flaw 

More than June by frown is browed, 

Two lofty blue-lights in a cloud. 

Her hand in his was, while thus 

He lighted his ignis fatuus : 

"Destruction is here, you see; 

This world is ashes — no more 



580 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Comes value of it as before; 

The thing is nothing to me; 

Any next hour you or I 

May get our order to die, 

Since death is wanton, makes free 

With each Hving thing I see — 

So remains there nought to do; 

Nought is left to me save you; 

See, too, how all life is vain, 

See out over beyond this plain 

Where once was jumping poppy, 

Rye once rocked, corn was toppy, 

With now not a brambling to tell 

What brook taught him his gurgling-spell ! 

I lived best, tuned myself true 

To what righteousness I knew. 

And here is full dispensation 

Of fire and tooth and sling 

With not one thumb of compensation 

For all my pretty gospelling ! 

Somehow have I hit it wrong — 

Let a man do his farmost might. 

There 's no rulery of right 

Shall profit him a song ! 

"Ah, while sun's in the mountain, 
Let us be cloud-like free. 
Bubbles ducked in a fountain, 

Waves in a sea ; 
To-morrow, quick to-morrow 
Holds you your cup up of sorrow! 

"Copy the robin- whistle. 
Take his path on the wing 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 581 

High over frost-bite or thistle 

Only to sing 
Above you, you that swallow 
His song, and your dirge to follow. 

" Copy the wind a-blowing 
For shouts of song, for shine, 
For gambol of saffron-sowing. 

Head above whine. 
Above any little knowing 
Whence it comes, whither 't is going. 

" Cheek to cheek let us follow 

Blue in the mountain air, 

Tap the wild hymn of the swallow. 

Closet our care ! 
Gain is loss, there 's no knowing 
Whence we come, whither we 're going. 

" Gone is the triumph of fashion, 

Gone is law among men ; 

What 's left but a clasp of passion, 

Freedom again? 
Hail to the mid-air wooing 
Of bluerocks billing and cooing! 

" Lip then to lip be flying 

To pick fire out of heart 

Ere we commence to be dying! 

Summer will part — 
Heave at it, life is longing 
For more than righting and wronging!" 



582 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Thus in the mountain he plyed her, 

Right as I eyed him he eyed her — 

She Hke the squab in a butcher's hand 

To know not one way to turn 

Aside from his jaw-bite, bosom-burn — 

Seized her, hand and hand, 

Pinned her as a falcon grips 

His goldfinch between finger-tips, 

Nor would he have let her go, 

Save that I gave him one shout 

To wake the dead the land about 

For warning to let him know 

My purpose and my one will 

To strike — ^men have struck to kill 

Where innocence is held in pause 

For crushing in a dragon's jaws — 

When, to my shout, came Clacky too. 

Things were wronger than wrong, he knew, 

While my true Natalie, while she 

Was up like the finch and away to me. 

My uncle leaving never a doubt 

Of what he was, proved himself out, 

As men do, by thought or by deed. 

To be not greater than his creed. 

Once more I turn my crystalline stone 

A thumb-width nearer the moon-beam zone 

Cinnamon-tints in an amber tone! 

XI 

Next day my aunt, my uncle's sister, 
Looking as if the devil missed her, 
Snipe-eyed, such one look about 
As let me trust her like a doubt, 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 583 

Jaw set snug to nose and thin, 
As if she tried to chew her chin, 
Hailed me with this quodHbet, 
A snap at the end of it for threat : 
"Fair nephew, you make too much 
Of greediness and mighty clutch 
To put claim to your uncle's ward. 
To lord it here as if you were lord. 
Grand master and woman-master; 
Yours is about the law of duty 

Pirates practise, law of booty; 

You scarce more than cake of plaster 

Stuck against our castle- wall ; 

What right is yours to so palaver 

The girl that you may hope to have her? 

From this uncle you have all 

God gives to any orphan-born, 

While^^but for him you would have sprouted 

Out of a gutter — will you doubt it? 

Besides, he is old, his soul is worn. 

While she, the cheek-bright Natalie, 

Is what is left him of our Moon 

We two must part with and so soon ; 

Left to him that she may lip 

His eyelids down as dark days grip, 

While you now would rob him of her. 

Pick his heart and throat and eye out, 

Gleam at him to see him die out, 

Play sea-hawk at mossy plover! 

Have a care — he feebles, I know. 

The best in him begins to go. 

Yet, as you have so been told 
How men who start to lose a hold 
Tighten their grip, beware lest you land 



584 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Your throat, by turns, in his closet-hand!' 

What was left me to say but she, 

My sweet soul of a Natalie, 

Was free as mountain-flowers are free 

To pile their sweetness here and there, 

To tie it to all coiling air? 

My trick-uncle she could have, 

Or any other mink or Slav, 

'Though I knew just to let her be. 

She would put her choice on me, 

The while my uncle might be heard 

To truck and fawn and smicker 

Moth-fashion at his star-flicker. 

And never I to drop a word. 



XII 



Next then to win her he must see, 

First, his trick to be rid of me; 

Always I notice this, how men. 

Once they drop the honest might 

Which cuts through force by force of right, 

Take to wit, to skull-box ken, 

Pismire head-work, monkey-slight 

By which they may not capture might, 

But trick and shy at it an hour, 

Come to be swallowed down by power. 

First, to drive me out of her thought, 

A thing not so ail-easily wrought: 

Curious cunning must be sought for. 

While, as they find who try to prick 

The eye of truth out by a trick. 

More 's to be thought of than they thought for! 

Short ways, this much he concluded: 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 585 

My birth bore a certain mystery 

Was coupled to my after history; 

This should be, first off, unsnooded, 

I made knowledgeful of what 

Had lotted me my nephew-lot. 

So, once one evening drew its bow 

Of orange across one peak of snow 

To split it like an arrow sent 

Into the bull's-eye firmament, 

My uncle followed me on up 

Into my high resting-cup 

Where I thought so to be alone 

To try to think one purpose out 

Life could have in such a blown 

And wasted hemisphere about. 

He told me of my father, his brother, 

How he took for wife my mother 

All against his father's will, 

Who, for such reason, straight provided 

His fortune should not be divided, 

Should go to my uncle for good or ill. 

Unless it should happen my mother 

Should one day come to wed another — 

In such case then was made provision 

His domain should have division 

Among his heirs, so to compel 

My uncle to look to it pretty plain 

He kept my mother from wedding again — 

Such the undreamable lynx in men ! 

Should she have taken second mate 

My uncle must forfeit his estate. 

With this he went to tell me how 

He contrived my mother should bow 

To his will — night was now trying 



586 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

To spoil a spot of mushroom dyeing 

When, through the dark, down he pointed, 

Down to the castle where one tower 

From the others looked unjointed, 

Looked extra-knuckled for extra power, 

'Though cracking old, once was a cookery, 

Now more like a broken rookery, 

Till straight at us, straight through the bars 

Of one small window looking east, 

Looked a light the glare of an evil beast, 

The dance in it of a dozen stars. 

When, right there, he said, just in there 

My mother was his prisoner 

He put there such long years before 

He scarce could summon up their score. 

For once concluding she would wed. 

All in spite of him, as she said. 

None knew she was there closeted. 

Save my speckled aunt, his sister. 

Who gave it out that she was dead, 

So, only as being dead, men missed her. 

She had come old, he breathed to say. 

Yet would he not give her flight 

Lest she should wed again for spite. 

All in spite of her age, one day. 

There had he held her most her life 

To pinch out in an attic-pit, 

A wren coiled to a huntsman's spit. 

Nor mother again, nor friend nor wife — 

How could he steel him to doing it? 

Told he next how my father died 

Of a sudden, ere I was born; 

How he tore me from her side 

As infant, how her hope was gone 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 587 

With me lost to her, how she went 

Half cheerful to her prisonment : 

How, by time, I grew to love him. 

My uncle — nought reigned above him. 

Mark now this his overture: 

Should I renounce my Natalie, 

Quit claim to him finally, 

Give her up to him to have 

For wife and proselyte and slave, 

He would, by way of compensation, 

Lead me to the tower where I 

Should see my mother, my first friend 

Before she took her turn to die 

In the tower there where rooks descend 

Like so many little sorrow-people 

To bring their friendship to the steeple. 

Go I should by each day's rise 

To her lonely temple, hold her close, 

Fetch wild hyssop, edelweiss, 

Fetch her hooks of holly-rose 

To soften the stones to such kind eyes 

As dropped their dew-light out of tears 

To the wilted leaf in each cheek. 

Flowers would knit again, blossom, speak 

All as once in her girleen years. 

My mother — I her foundling son. 

We two, to be once more just one. 

As when, in that last April nap, 

I lay snuggled to her lap 

For such oneness, such wealth of love, 

Man turns all heart for thinking of. 

Oh friend, be sure of this in me, 

I forgot there was any Natalie; 

I forgot my uncle's tyrant-trick 



588 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

To crush the Hfe-size out of her 

Who gave me Hfe — I forgot to stir; 

You could hear my bosom prick 

With, first, tne thought to strike him, 

With then the thought to Hke him, 

To hold him close for brother 

Who brought me back my mother. 

Like whom the sweet world brings no other. 

Whom I thought lost to me, gone 

That great grief -week I was born, 

She the blood and only soul of me, 

Deepest very heart and whole of me 

I was to have again, was to save 

From death's death on a dungeon-spit — 

Oh God, the very thought of it. 

To clasp a mother from the grave ! 

So said I yes, my thousand y esses. 

He could have my Natalie, 

Have her, oh that gladfully ! 

Her melon lip, claret tresses, 

Have her, everything was of her. 

To be her monarch-mate and lover. 

For that he should lead me next day. 

This same time, plump on the hour. 

By one snakish narrow way 

Which serpented towards the tower 

Through such labyrinth as only he knew 

Where tongue and fang of it pointed to. 



Next day was my aunt about, 
Would aim at me with pointed snout 
To know what went, how my uncle came 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 589 

To look to her not half the same, 

Like somewhat were so pinching his brain 

He thought worth thinking over again 

As men do who are not full certain, 

Now that or this new point is sifted. 

As if the spirit lowered and lifted 

Cloud, betimes, like a hanging curtain! 

As if she were not puffed with knowledge 

Down to just the smallest small edge 

Of what my uncle's brain was doing 

While she bottled what he was brewing ! 

She knew — there 's the why she kept 

Knowledge to herself — you know 

How small minds think it sharp-adept 

To play at ignorance so to feel 

They work a wheel within a wheel 

To put you thinking contrariso — 

Next, after once was glutted 

Her lust of cunning, her fox-fancy ' 

For trick- work, cheap necromancy. 

Here 's het way she piped and stutted : 

"So you have found sense, it seems. 

To drop off your cock-lofty strut. 

Your head-breeze, lap-dog dreams! 

Having found you have a mother, 

Have an uncle for a brother, 

You can find an 'if or 'but' 

For Natalie — so like you men. 

An old love off for a new one when 

The whim tickles. In this case 

You do well to mend your ways 

To travel backward to one whose arms 

Took you when you were nought, take part 

And lesson of such true great heart 



Sgo Moon Fields, or Man the God 

To re-youth her, to put back charms 

Of geranium at her wilted cheek. 

— More is her heart than soul may speak — 

A blueling in a lap of maize, 

Fingers of phlox where sunfall plays, 

And those are wonderful days 

When a man, like a pink bud, lies 

For the life of him under two warm eyes 

Of dew-shine and such love 

He begins to chuckle and puff 

For more, never to get enough. 

And the flower may open to spread 

For wonderment against his skies, 

Hold his world in extasies. 

Yet will come back to him the sweet same eyes 

Always and always, looking or dead ! 

Natalie I saw this early morning, 

Told her of my brother's warning 

To you — how your mother was there 

For prisoner to cormorant care 

Unless you came to her — how you 

Quickly decided between the two, 

And, soul-high-ripened as no other, 

You chose the heart-beat of the mother. 

Doubt not once the greatness of it. 

Doubt not any world woiild love it 

'Though each town shoiild come unsteepled 

And the universe unpeopled — 

Think you mere people make for what 

Runs highest in universal thought. 

That once this love is body-blended. 

Once this human heart is matched 

And mated, and broods are hatched, 

The glory of God is done and ended?" 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 591 

XIV 

This one evening, tap on time, 
I took my uncle at his word — 
Clock-hand now begun to chime; 
Nought was new in it ; I had heard 
The hardened music there as boy, 
Blow upon blow if a neighbor died. 
Harder blows if a maiden sighed 
To shrink at marriage-altar joy, 
As if for this lesson to humankind: 
The blow first, one hardest blow 
Men shrink from, try to stifle so; 
Comes then the echo just behind 
Turns to such sweetness on the wind. 
Such the way that evening with me, 
I caught one wild minstrelsy 
Which sweetened up the air so about 
With its tongue-licks and honey-shout 
I could hear and know nought other 
Than this — I was to see my mother! 
So, on the hour, I was by him. 
My purpose now to test and try him; 
Natalie, be it understood, 
I was not to see again 
In this life, if I would or should — 
So much was settled and made plain. 
Good as his word we took up march. 
First, through each new northerly arch 
To one roundish court, then straight 
To the night-bell over Griffard Gate, 
As it was known, for claws of a hawk. 
To open both wings out with a squawk. 
Through here we came on an open ditch — 



592 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Deep it was, narrow and dark 

As space is 'twixt tree and bark — 

One deep small ladder descended 

With never suspicion of a pitch — 

Not knowing where in earth it ended 

Would make a lion's liver twitch 

— I go first, my guide-uncle next — 

Descensus Averni made our text 

I kept in mind as we began 

To leave this world, drop on drop, 

Till I thought we could never stop, 

So dark it looked where the ladder ran, 

While, save for my full force of will, 

I think I should think I was dropping still. 

End came at last — there we stood 

At the pit-bottom — you may know 

There were touches of brotherhood 

Now we could feel the undertow 

Of darkness, could get not a trace 

One of the other, hand or face. 

How one touch of danger bends 

To soften and make us friends ! 

Stood we firm in the ladder-plinth 

At the opening of such labyrinth 

Of trick-angles and ringlet-links 

A man is lost who stops or thinks. 

Since through it all, hark all your hark, 

Nought was there but thickest dark 

To look to to face you back 

Defiance, like a mask of black. 

No man could think his way one hair. 

Save that he knew both trick and key 

To match and unhinge the mystery 

Which else meant certain death was there. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 593 

This was it : there ran one railing 
About as high as a man's hip 
Along which you let finger slip 
To feel (there must be no failing) 
For a notch, then one tiny cliff 
Nicked in the rail each twenty feet 
For sign to you, like a hieroglyph 
Stuck at one comer of a street 
To let you know, could you read the text, 
Which ugly comer would come next. 
Any miss of a chip or dot, 
Any forgetfulness how it read, 
One small lapse of witful thought 
And you companion with the dead. 
I took his hand, walked well behind — 
How thought makes havoc of a man 
If night be on him ! — what if his plan 
And purpose were so cold inclined 
As to drop me — there was scarce a span 
To link us, and I knew my man 
— How I clinched his hand behind ! — 
What if he weakened, dropped his mind! 
Not for myself I was so shrinking. 
But for her in the tower there — no thinking 
Would put me right — chill sweat put chase 
To two sharp glow-spots in my face 
As came one thought which pricked and haunted: 
I was that close uncled and aunted. 
The two between them plain could see 
Round ownership of Natalie in fee 
Could they contrive to be rid of me! 
Crept such follies through my brain — 
Them you forget, you do not forget 
How they made you wince and sweat, 
38 



594 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Then sweat and wince all over again — 

More than an hour we were groping 

This way, that way, all so slowly 

The end looked black as melancholy 

For any taste of human hoping 

When, at a wink, we were out 

In a kind of round redoubt 

Of such masonry and that broad, 

Sunk so far below the sod 

I thought of it as an arm of God. 

This was the tower, shot from just there 

Where we stood into upper air. 

Force-foremost, that mountain-proud, 

Nor stopped once till it pricked the cloud! 

One round step-way curled to make 

One coil-up, like a springing snake 

Against the stars, spy-spiral sent 

To climb where it licked the firmament! 

No entrance other was to be found. 

Apart from this rat-hole underground, 

A man could take to, coming or leaving, 

And the web of it past all believing. 



Now to ascend! There was such dark, 
Deaf-mute darkness was around. 
Since we stood so deep underground 
No light could leak a little spark. 
My uncle first — how he coiild crawl 
With neither slip nor trip to fall. 
Knew his way so — such no-blunderment 
Filled me fully full of wonderment ! 
Each time he would lift a foot 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 595 

To take a new step on the stair, 
Each small creaking of a boot 
Fell to me like music there- 
Was I not rising, round by round, 
To where my whole heart could be found, 
Now each new step I took, each stir 
Put me one footfall nearer her 
Who waited, who knew not I 
Came reaching for her towards the sky? 
Till, as I rose, each step came lighter. 
Dark grew dim, the tower brighter, 
So as I drew to near the top. 
Thought of her door where I should stop, 
That light-footed was I, it seemed 
Weight was gone, the whole sky schemed 
To trick me and I only dreamed. 
For, right where I was come to stay, 
I felt half spirited away. 

XVI 

We were come to the tower- top now — 

There was one small window in it 

To look off, like the eye of a ginnet. 

Straight at our moon-mountain-brow; 

One small hall was where we stood 

To face one little iron door 

Made round too — never its like before — 

I kept my look at it agood 

To see my uncle fingering. 

Watch him push one hidden spring 

Which shot two iron bolts plump out 

Like two tusks through a boar's snout — 

There it opened, while just inside 



596 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Lay one semi-circum room, 

One other just such eye-hole in it 

To put me thinking of the ginnet, 

Knew not the whisper of a broom 

For past all memory of man — 

Bring this to you, if you can, 

How God-made, God-likest man, 

Having each failing of his race. 

Could harden him, like a pelican. 

To pouch a sister in such place 

Where such mouth of darkness licked her 

To wind about her heart and face 

Coils to crush like a boa-constrictor — 

For there, close to us now inside. 

Just one thinnest touch of light 

Which lay at her two lips like blight, 

She as one who that day died, 

Hands crossed as if in death. 

Heedless if she drew a breath, 

Was my mother, just the gentle mother — 

How sure I knew her for no other ! 

Passed he in, my uncle first. 

Whom I could have blest and curst, 

Stood at the window to look out, 

Back to us, hands both behind him 

Clearly so we should not mind him, 

Or so he might not look about 

To see what he must shrink to see. 

Such meeting 'twixt my soul and me — 

And you — why, you would never look 

One glance within such private book 

Of love like that, nor could I tell 

The Heaven of it, the wordless spell 

Of joy, of unworldly power 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 597 

Of soul and soul to melt in one 

In Heaven's way, now all was done — 

I held her for such love that hour 

As, come what may in the world again. 

Could find no matching among men. 



Now for quick thought to make the best 

Of such supernal climax, lest 

I lose a point — how mind will break 

To split up into sparks of thought 

Curiously, marvellously wrought 

If a life you love be at stake! — 

For quicker than my uncle could see 

If he turned to look, which he did not, 

I seized my mother close to me 

By both arms, then like a shot 

Was at the rounded door and through, 

Dragging the iron eye-lid behind 

Which shut like a jaw with a hungry grind 

All as quick as I snapped it to. 

And, lo, my captor was capped. 

He by his own trick was trapped, 

Left bonded and my convict there, 

My uncle and my prisoner! 

Now for escape — None! 

Not one step to it under the sun, 

Save through the deep dark underneath — 

No crawling ever between those teeth 

Without him — so where to turn? — 

I could feel my eyeballs burn. 

Lip twitch — then thought would stir: 

Was I there not his prisoner, 



59^ Moon Fields, or Man the God 

He mine? Must we not rise 
To some safe kind of compromise 
By understanding, beyond doubt, 
We help each other to get out? 
Have you thought ever you could pet 
A panther, now he looked so calm 
You thought to safely stroke his palm 
For pastime, coax him to forget 
His foaming frenzy of wild rage. 
Make friend to him, yet ogled shy 
If he began to nose too nigh. 
To conclude, on the whole, it were sage 
To keep him just inside his cage? 
Mostly that way was how I felt. 
Having in mind his nails, my pelt — 
So were we locked in the tower-cop, 
The case looked dark and difficult, 
For we could neither go nor stop 
With only the panther to consult, 
When, on our stairway, click by clack 
Came footfalls — I can hear them now 
Stroke the stairway on the brow — 
I hearked to get each little smack, 
Leaped to look, called out to know 
Who came there, what went below. 
When royal Clacky answered back. 
How he could come I could not see — 
He coiild not know a chink or crum 
To point him which way he should come 
How Clacky, no thought over pie-height. 
Could have taken to such high flight 
Was mystery — yet there he came 
For light to us, like a tongue of flame, 
Clacky — no doubt there he was. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 599 

Ready to take the woman's cause, 

Wrong or right, whichever it was, 

To put his soul against the planet — 

So 't was I let him plan and man it 

To get us out — he knew how. 

Knew much of what my uncle meant 

To do by his tower-tanglement. 

So was he that plump-hearted now 

To friend us, took us down the strip 

Of steps which groaned from crown to hip. 

Which talked, yet never moved a lip. 

Took us through the no-end maze 

Of quadrants and split-finger-tricks 

And out again into those warm days 

And side-hills the sweet wind licks. 

XVIII 

Days were now gone since we two 
Were ticketed to leave the tower, 
My mother and I — such wing-days flew 
As found us, each new painted hour, 
Love-bound, mother just and son. 
From sun-up always to sun-under. 
My uncle in his trap to wonder 
How well it worked, if once begun, 
How well he loved the law of blunder I 
Natalie was not to be seen — she too, 
Like the days about us, was gone. 
Spirited away and no one knew 
What tree she was picketed on 
Or where to look that she be found, 
Save in some pit-puzzle under ground.^ 
My aunt took stomachful of bother 



6oo Moon Fields, or Man the God 

All to try to free her brother, 

Till sudden brain- work put her thinking: 

She should make love to Clacky, 

Win him, make him her Jo-Jacky — 

Well, you should have seen her blinking, 

Toe-straight tenor if she walked, 

How she curlicued and balked, 

Furbelowed and pinked and chalked, 

Then two daubs of silver paint 

For swooning and playing saint, 

While not one thought for Clacky more 

Than any squiggle of a wrasse 

Or small intent his tail-bob has 

Right as he pins a gnat ashore. 

Wealth was her portion, wealth of gold 

I saw no sign of, yet was told 

Her share in her mother's estate 

Was largened to truly great. 

Cunning Clacky, by all his reading, 

Came heady as a ball of dough, 

Seemed to need a little kneading 

Ere he could fill to grow and know 

Beyond his yellow metallurgy. 

For always, both as young and old, 

He had Jew-genius for boxing gold, 

Loved the shine in it, quill-splurgy — - 

Give him that, you could see him lapse 

Like thought which winks between the naps, 

Dull as an oyster in his shell 

That fats and fouls and all is well. 

Now his old back begins to righten, 

Boot to shine, tie to tighten, 

Bosom-gladful to make a tool 

For chance, once, to play the fool. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 6oi 

Saw I the thing would never do, 
Aunt and Clacky to count for one — 
This much I saw of what was true : 
From such instant as Clacky was won, 
My uncle falconed in the tower, 
All would go to the coupled two 
And poor outlook for mother and son 
And uncle from that union-hour. 
Would they be left alone to clamber, 
Stuck for death in this yellow Moon 
Like two flies in a thumb of amber, 
They thought not of — how passing soon 
Uses of gold slip thought like an elf 
Once eyes are pinned to the coin itself, 
As if a man came hypnotized 
By such yellow eye, nor realized 
His whole soul fastened by its glare 
To look not sideways nor elsewhere ! 
So came conference among us three, 
Clacky and my aunt and me 
That I might try — I thought, perhaps, 
I could put Clacky to his taps, 
Albeit if my aunt once cackled 
Clacky would dilate, tap-shackled. 
Nor mind to move, scarce could he speak 
To gather one thought in the week. 
So wholly was he overcome 
Just by her low dreary drum 
Of fondness for him, till he thought: 
There may be men would look alive, 
Would strike their knuckles off to wive, 
But Clacky is somewhat to be sought! 
"Now," said I, "here you have it, 
True as dingey is to davit: 



6o2 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Gone is this Moon, little is of it 

Now a man could think to covet; 

Marriage would be for little use 

As feathers in a gutted goose; 

An end is now of mating, of death. 

Of birth — we draw one little breath 

Which is left; scarce is there air 

Enough about us for five to share, 

Or rib-up — look for a lomp. 

Look for one tiny xiphias 

Or May-apple, for a spike of grass 

To prop a poppy in a swamp! 

Nothing has worth — think you shall you 

Pouch a nickel for its value 

When in the land no more is wrought 

An ilex to be sold or bought? 

Moreover, there is now my uncle 

In his cage — I hear him crunkle, 

See him sweat so he may see 

One justice works eternally, 

Yet, fairly as our job is jobbed, 

I have no mind to see him robbed. 

So look you, unless this folly-bride 

And bridegroom-plan be tucked aside 

I give you this: all past a doubt 

I '11 break his cage and let him out!" 

You should see the aunt-eyes beam 

Like two head-lights of a bream 

Fixed on a weevil in a stream ! 

Up she was, arms all over 

Clacky, as a wasp will hover 

To clinch to rifle a tuft of clover! 

Always I see, if a world of care 

Be taken to do a thing unfair. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 603 

Just the right wit is wanting there! 
No sooner now had Clacky once seen 
Her eyes grew all her tyrant fire 
At mention of her soul-desire, 
To free her brother quick and clean, 
Than he was quick to see the claw 
Just inside her love-making maw ! 



My aunt, with all her apple-prim practice 
To taste all facts to find what one fact is. 
Let free one morning how she knew 
Where Natalie was, yet thought it best 
To keep such knowledge from the rest 
For so many reasons she could not tell 
How she came to such thought so well. 
This much she could guarantee 
For truth as touching Natalie: 
She was contented as a bee 
In a bud shut up where he only knows 
His pink sweet chamber of satin rose, 
Nor cares how the outside bubble blows. 
Clacky she gave up for worse 
To pocket than a miser's purse; 
She thought my uncle in the rookery 
Should have a taste of his own crookery — 
So peace dominioned, things were well 
As couJd be in our kind of hell 
Which was life to such little end 
One could see scarce what to do, 
While, barring us five, not a friend 
But he was gone — there were few 
Patches left in our mountain-stoop 



6o4 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Where could grow a quill or drupe — 

Life came hard, looked at through 

Mole-peeps out of eyes of glue 

Men so prize to stickle to — 

That 's to say, men make for what 

Has value by the common lot, 

That which may be sold or bought, 

Piled up, eaten, sung, vowelled, 

One wherewithal for smell or touch, 

If only an onion at a clutch, 

So my man go pretty-bowelled 

As if he grew a gut to pack it 

To one end, that he plump his jacket 

To live his days out — no plan of a plan 

To measure up such kind of man 

As stakes all for no other than 

To make of him all there is of a man. 

So, if one first purpose be this. 

Not to give out, but to get what is. 

And he lose what, to him, is all. 

To wit, the one thing he is after, 

Treacle-pot, sun-heap, volley-laughter. 

Then is his star past-finding small. 

Then worlds fly up that they may fall. 

To make lustration : Clacky once thought 

One pretty field-patch could be sought 

Where my aunt and he, once they married. 

Might compass peace if old age tarried. 

One henbane lot near the Villa Peach, 

Now not a bee-song within reach. 

Pin-apple nor scops-owl screech. 

So said I to him: "What is your use 

Of space, of any mere Moon-acres 

With not an inch to gain or lose. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 605 

The place clean stripped of cakes and bakers, 
Locklords and swampish hellebores 
And wine- trees and fastened doors? — 
Free as the raining sun-down pours 
You own these mountains, score and scores, 
This whole Moon-pot world is yours!" 
There he hiccupped and was off 
Into the kind of booby-cough 
A man will play at once he clinches 
Truth to find the truth so pinches 
He will not want you should know 
How like the devil it pinches so. 
So begins to trick and quobble 
*In his gills to twist your thinking. 
Mix you in his wind-pipe squabble 
So you shall not mark his shrinking. 
Dropped his jaw like an apron-flap 
Full of plums — I give it a slap 
And nought is left but the empty lap ! 
So much for Clacky and his marriage, 
His Villa Peach, his calamint. 
Blue wine, velvet carriage. 
With just his little keyhole squint 
At truth — truth meant to shape a soul 
Out of a moon, shape the rose in bole. 



One morning, just at day-rawe, 
Nothing in the castle to stay for, 
I and my mother took to ambling 
In the mountain, above our villa, 
If we might hear a brambling. 
Pick a switch of alfilerilla. 



6o6 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Watch the princely morning stripe 

A rock like a thrush when his breast is ripe. 

We two just — yet were we one 

More than dawn and yellow sun — 

Oh, what belly-less human blunder 

Could put such love as ours asunder? 

Each the other tried to hearten, 

Looked for glow-fly, beach-marten, 

Any kind of small exertion 

To scrape a handful of diversion. 

While straight through our solemnest while 

Would come one look-alert of hers, 

As a throstle's eye when a blossom stirs, 

As 'round it lay her rainbow smile. 

While each day I could see she grew 

Foot-feebler, part thinner through, 

Would pull, by times, for a breath 

As they who are in tug with death; 

So was the gifted air burnt out, 

Came scarce a gulletful about; 

Peach-meats, quince or ople-tree 

Or strip of purple bitter-balled 

Vine-climber of grapish gree 

Were most of all which one could see 

To tempt him, now stomach smalled. 

Housed in one angle of a notch 

Where fire struck once to cut a scotch, 

We rested, her pale hand on mine 

For such June-touch a man remembers 

When life is only all Decembers 

And only thought is palatine. 

"This Natalie," she went on to say, 

"What of your loss of her? 

You gave her up for me that day 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 607 

Your uncle made such stir 

About what I could not understand 

Was coining in his cunning hand — 

Should you not go to her now, 

Take her for love, keep her for wife 

After the way the world knows how? — 

There 's the meaning of Moon and life 

And purpose, far as men see it 

Who mean to swallow the world and be it; 

Minnows we to tickle in a stream 

Where star-balls out of every sky 

Dot the water, eye for eye, 

Just shadow only, only a dream 

Which catches never one real star, 

But only what it seems to seem, 

And things are nowhere what they are. 

Then, therefore, will it all behoove 

Man that he mind his pie-wise ways 

To grub and grunt, make sport of love, 

Have pastime and pretty days — 

All is below, nothing above 

Save stars to fly to — there 's truth enough!" 

This- wise I answered: "If things seem 

Not what they are, but are only dream 

Illusion, then back of them must be 

Their cause, one real reality ; 

So, if I stick to what I need 

Life-wise, that is to say, to breathe, 

Kick, eat, paddle till I teethe, 

Get to love enough to breed, 

I live only to sleep and dream 

Things which are not what they seem, 

While comes my second thought — for sample. 

Take love as men do, think it ample: 



6o8 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Should I turn back to Natalie, 

There woiild be love such as I see 

The world makes most of, comes to covet 

To live by, then lives to love it. 

And nothing nobler for gonfalon 

Than just this world to whirlpool on, 

Men to multiply more and more 

For their level gains of heretofore, 

Keep to one course without a blunder 

By all ways of least resistance 

So they may live to love existence, 

Mark time only to knock under. 

And life will have sparrowed — their small spell 

Will ripple in one passing-bell 

Which has no more than this to tell : 

Gluttony glutted and all is well! 

By my promise I am under 

I put my Natalie asunder 

For you, O unforgotten mother. 

For love such as could have no other 

In all my group of years 

To match it out of yonder sky 

Which touches so deep, soars so high. 

Yet makes no end of clinging spheres! 

One love just, only my love, 

To look not beyond it, not above 

To question if it be enough 

To have a purpose, to gain an end 

More than one endless spirit-friend, 

One soul-mate, so fine, so true 

The stars must widen to let you through." 

There 's my best — nor counts the rest, 

So I get all my mighty best. 

Which is that which I was made for, 



Mcon Fields, or Man the God 609 

What earth's earth-worms better spade for 

To not be thinking so soggily much 

Of how to burrow, of what to clutch. 

Since things are not what they seem. 

But a dream, then just another dream, 

And I find how what in me is best 

Runs counter to what makes for power 

And prosperment for just a nest 

Of gold-heap to yield one hour 

Of sun-vine, of little glitter 

That I may pipe my sparrow-twitter, 

Have I not proof enough just so 

That what in me is loftiest best 

Goes not the way the grub-worms go 

Under conqueror custom east and west, 

But contra wise, as soars my love 

So far from this Moon and above 

As to have small use here to serve an end 

Or Moon-purpose — witness her hand 

I hold now and I would not give 

My hold of up, if even to live 

And love and prosper in any land 

Of unsurpassable blossomy breath — 

Rather my love which reasoneth 

The world is second, gain and the rest 

Which make for power and brood and nest, 

Once give me that in me which is best 

That I may silence and sink the rest. 

So say I, since those things I see 

Are other than what they seem to be, 

That what once is or ever was 

Has back of it one nobler cause 

Than what, to my seeing, all things are, 

And I my choice to trim and spar 



6io Moon Fields, or Man the God 

The Moon-way just to keep my hold 
On brood and power and cake of gold, 
Or to come above it for just my reason 
That I find such soul in me 
As loves to be so out of season 
With what I taste or touch or see, 
Has learned the right of mighty treason 
Against what only seems to be, 
Towers towards true reality — 
Then will I seize yon rainbow-tie 
Which tries to ribbon-knot a sky, 
And, be the view off unending-far, 
I tie me all knots to my rising star. 

XXI 

Fall is all. Trees have lost their lips; 

No whisper where the south wind slips, 

Only mute signs from finger-tips. 

Sun-beam and apricot-rod 

Hit at each other, like as before — 

Now only the dumping nod. 

Never the rose's red vein more. 

A trick-eagle — one which Clacky had 

For scholarship, knew good and bad, 

Would light at his shoulder-strap to perch 

For solemn as an empty church. 

Flap at his eyes to set him winking. 

Scratch at his head to put him thinking. 

Pluck him, man-fashion, by an ear 

To pull bell out so he could hear 

If one were talking not very near — 

Brings one odd thing to mind : this bird 

Would take possession of the tower 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 6ii 

Where was my uncle, would fold and cower 

To captain the place — rook was not heard 

Or seen in any near pinaster, 

So was he mighty there and master. 

One clean morning, right as I turned 

To lead my mother dowii our slope 

Where sun in dead alfalfa churned 

Wild lemon, May-pop, heliotrope, 

Flew there this bird from the tower 

Plump at us, like an arrow pricks 

The wind so not a dew-bead sticks, 

Head-on for his whole eagle-power 

With just inside his lemon beak 

One white flap he would not unloose 

— It might have been a flag of truce — 

Looking like he would like to speak. 

There he hovered, plumb above us. 

Forty feet scarce out of reach 

As, with his kind of hobble-screech 

Never meaning he could love us. 

On he went circling in mid air 

As if to tempt us to look there, 

When, with one puff-ruffle to us 

In one new kind of milder tone. 

One not born of hucklebone, 

He dropped the white flap down to us! 

My uncle's missive — thus it read: i 

"Once give me freedom, you may take 

Natalie and mother both — my stake 

My castle, with all I crave. 

Myself to boot for 

"Your Very Slave." 
What to do, how to answer? 
Sooner would I crave a cancer 



6i2 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

At this throat than one clean grip 

'Twixt his thumb and finger-tip. 

Liar, he, to the back-teeth, he, 

Now stript of his principality 

Of right, there being nought he saw 

Now left worth being rightful for! 

On t' other hand look : he was human 

As any man, as any woman 

To want greatness, once he knew 

Greatness in me to button to. 

Go we so in pairs, we human; 

That I find in my Yahoo-man; 

How to make a man your prisoner? — 

Put him squarely so on his honor. 

Lives there no kind of human art 

Like trusting me to touch my heart. 

So, too, my honest word he had, 

Come what might come, good or bad, 

I shall never once ask to see 

Or know again of my Natalie. 

I shall not take a man in a trap 

To pinch his liver, fetch him my rap 

To trim my purpose by his fate; 

Such might be fashiony — never great. 

My terms with him so fast were fixed, 

While, 'though the prisoners got mixed 

In his tower- trap, shifted places, 

I must not balk nor jump the traces. 

Hovered there above us our eagle 

'Round and 'round, as if he swirled 

To circum-dominate a world 

To talon-tie it to his regie. 

This I saw, he was not skating 

Clouds for nought — there he was waiting : 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 613 

So wrote I on the reverse side 
My missive: "You are free! 
Natalie is yours, too, for bride, 
So you leave my mother to me." 
This much I tossed to the wind, 
While quicker than I could see. 
Quick as the leven looks to be, 
My eagle was down and had it pinned 
And back again with his whole feline 
Screech to point and track a bee-line 
To the tower to know his master's fate 
Right as the clock-hand counted eight. 

I turned my sky-quartz down instead 

To see what a wider angle said — 

The lip was white, but the breath was red. 

XXII 

I saw not my uncle after that ; 

Chagrin at what he elbowed at, 

Once to rob me of my mother. 

Once to rob her of her share 

Of rainbow-bridge, lilac air, 

Cheat her of chance, then to smother 

Each fine whisper which tried to rise, 

Would force a lynx to turn his eyes 

Away from her, away from me 

By the felon-look which hates to see. 

He died, as most men will die. 

Looking for somewhat, pumping his sigh 

For more palace, for less need. 

Any new way to root and feed, 

To play gullet, to pipe tricks 



6i4 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Mouth-up, soul-under in the Styx. 

How I have wondered how men 

Come to their dry longing again 

For what 's about, to get a hand 

At new clutching, twitch a latch 

To open the new Paradise-hatch — 

Most as a child if he be squeezed 

Into shouts of holiday joy 

By pinching his new trumpet-toy 

Nor knows his own soul, how it is pleased. 

Just as if I am not more 

Than Moon fields, or tapestried shore 

Of swimming worlds, or fiddle-faddle 

Atoms which seek to play and paddle, 

More than this privilege to live 

Throat-fashion by my world- way. 

More than I seem or you may say. 

Or any Heaven which Heaven could give! 

So say I how I have wondered 

How men have twisted and so blundered 

Into this, that any potter's clay 

Or anything of earth or heaven, 

Outside of soul, which could be given 

To men for them to have and hold. 

Their love of throat, their doll-gold, 

Could be of value more than they ! 

So, as they live to think, they die. 

Dying to think a kind of hope 

Which keeps at asking "how," "why," 

Or what 's outside this envelope 

Of dew and dust to grasp 

While they fetch their smothered gasp, 

Never rising once like Gods 

To die and never count the odds ! 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 615 

What is this last sorrow-sigh 
I draw, now I lie down to die, 
Save my first breath of divinity? 
Count you your gains by tens, elevens, 
This life, any life, power, pelf, 
Yet this one omnipresent self 
Counts higher than a hundred heavens. 
What boots this privilege of mine 
To die, save one more chance to play 
The man to dominate my way 
By masterdom, the trick divine? 
So, if I look to sum the sum 
Of struggle where once I fought, 
Whether of life or death or what. 
Whether I won at it or not. 
The thing was there to be overcome 
For mightiness, one God-grown plan 
Meant to spirit, to man the man. 
To die is divine — oh, be so sure 
No star points an eyelet truer 
To see beyond dark, all ways. 
What the wish winks, heart says 
Is true of your struggle or mine: 
One last breath at it is divine! 

XXIII 

How they die, these people, 

Looking to their church-steeple 

To point somewhat, one new grist 

Of cheap chaff, somewhat they have missed, 

Anything, so they see it plain, 

A new play, a profity gain 

To pocket one eyeful of pelf — 



6i6 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Devil take this eminent self 

Which can compass so much, climb 

Each high Heaven so that the climb 

And not the Heaven is the thing sublime! 

How small it looks, this day-life size, 

Since, howsoever great the prize, 

No man lives greater than he dies! 

For now came my aunt — she next 

Began to falter, read the text 

Which bubbled about us how we 

Are come here just to effort to be 

What there is of us, count not the odds, 

Whether there be loss or gain, 

If the end look large or vain. 

But men to be men, since '' Ye are Gods." 

Sour as a pickle-jug across face. 

Each wrinkle playing out of place. 

Came my aunt this day — I could see 

Her turn was next, her hand pass passes 

Before her just to brush away 

Death-heads which were spitting gases 

Of nightshade meant only to slay. 

The meaning in it she knew as I did. 

To wit, her Moon-doom was decided. 

So she must go her way, your way, 

My way — there 's the open doorway — 

One only question my time being, 

Far as my plain eyes are seeing. 

Will I play coward so I go 

As if the devil dared me so. 

Or stand, man-fashion as a God, 

Grin my grin at the yawning sod? 

Came there my aunt, was catching staggers, 

Wrought her spleen-best to look daggers. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 617 

Her night-pit face of that sour scowl 

Would make a dog back back to howl, 

All because I dropped not a word 

For bait, could not play parson-bird 

To croon, crop-stuff her to think 

The thing to look to across the brink 

Is some crown-jewel-catch-me-kink ! 

She took her way, she would have it. 

Fast fastened as an affidavit : 

She must keep her greed to go on 

So to surpass an entozoon; 

The thing to clutch at counts for king, 

Not any royal Godful fling 

Of integral power which comes of Right, 

Of pure purpose, almighty striving 

For more than this mere honey-hiving 

Or empyrean peak in sight. 

Never that for her crop ever; 

But aught to get to, to take hold of. 

Like her Moon to make her gold of, 

One chance more to be so clever 

At keeping soul and body together 

By thought about as even great 

As a spoonbill when he slues his pate 

Due east to gripe and wipe a feather! 

Will a man get greated by hope. 

Not by facing force, 'though he grope 

To not know ever where he goes 

Nor why, save to make him man 

And master on one sky-like plan 

Which lets him reap the what he sows, 

Pluck up more the less he knows, 

Like a sailor more mans his bark 

Who cuts his seas down through the dark? 



6i8 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Hope pets, dandles, softens, bribes; 
My sky-like plan hurls out gibes 
Of shot, or thunders diatribes, 
Looks facefuls of threat by frowns — 
Man makes strong by what he downs. 
So she overlooked herself — most do — 
To see if she could make out a case 
Of claim to some one better place 
By her glut-eye of the cockatoo. 
She died her way — so the beetle-breeze 
Dies in a bunch of cockle-trees — 
There 's my skimmer-bee flies over 
His mallow-bed, sea of clover. 
To nest in one poppy, red-breast fair 
Of promise — he sucks no syrup there. 

XXIV 

Next to find Natalie — my aunt gone 

And uncle, all she leaned upon, 

I by my promise no longer bound. 

Here was law — Natalie must be found. 

So to it Clacky and I put head 

And heel, each to play ferret 

To nose the castle, pit to garret. 

Till not in the winding place was trestle 

Or box-lock where we did not wrestle 

To find her — we took smart care 

To well below and over-stair 

So not a well-end but was searched 

To the bell-tower where the eagle perched, 

Yet was no Natalie lurking there. 

What could 'come of her? — he could not 

Have left her somewhere cornered to die, 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 619 

For lack of dew, after the lot 

Of wake-robin in parching plot — 

So was it Clacky there and I 

Kept musing through the night to know 

Where she could be, how she could slink 

To where not one of us could think, 

So were we boxed and puzzled so. 

Could it be, when my uncle went, 

He took her wath him, the sly dog. 

To bear her above fire and fog 

Into the roundabout firmament? 

For so have I known men to say 

They had mighty leaning such way 

To take the loved one with them too 

Into their dark whereunto — 

My doubt is if he went her way ! 

Kept we our musing, Clacky and I, 

This way, any way about it 

Till — so it seemed — they let her die 

And never word to us — no doubt it 

Pleased, in my uncle, the selfish cur 

To know I could not look to her. 

Plumb on the instant when I sighed 

To think of it, how she must have died, 

The world between us so hard and wide, 

Came there one bell-note from the tower 

Put white streaks across our faces, 

Twitched our tough hearts from their places — 

A bell — and, too, at such night hour 

To go on tolling, so softly tolled 

Into darkness where it rolled 

I thought the tongue in it was souled. 

Or, like enough some night-hag hovered 

To tap it when the sun was covered — 



620 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

We three only, Clacky and I 
And my mother in our wasted Moon 
Now left to undertake a sigh. 
Notice a moss-cheeper out of tune — 
My mother in her hallway sleeping 
Like her last sleep — scarce was creeping 
Breath enough to her lip for thought 
To tell if she were there or not. 
Now I harked for any culver 
To croon, any lisp of hulver. 
As went on tolling the tower-bell 
For all things like our passing knell, 
Now I and Clacky were surely coming 
To the bell-cote — we were there to see 
The author of such devilish drumming, 
V/hat meant it, what the thing could be. 
When, lo, there our king-eagle was, 
The bell's tongue fastened in both claws, 
He flying out so back and forth, 
Now due south, now due north, 
To fetch, by turns, the gong a rap 
Each time he touched on either side, 
His sailor- wings spread open wide. 
Shut to again, flap on flap, 
As if he strove his most to fly 
To swing his bell-song toward the sky 
So we might think it his own ring 
And he the song-eagle — bell and wing ! 



Natalie was gone — small doubt of that 
Conclusion we were settled at — 
The truth in it was all along 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 621 

Her castle wall, in the eagle's gong, 

In every genuflexion or sigh 

Of her linden-tree — which said good-bye. 

To think I so loved her, and she gone. 

And I not one small whisper to her 

So much as any leaf will stir 

If a last breath of day be drawn ! 

Mine was another love than now. 

My last love which takes no vow — 

Who shall say what love is or how 

It conquers so to get of a man 

The God in him always, which it can 

In proportion just to each fine kind 

Of soul is his, dominion-mind 

And heart — see how there he goes, 

Bee-fashion, dives for sweet all over 

To tumble in his lap of clover 

Nor minds the blush, lets not his rose 

Blind him to the sweet which flows, 

And he cHps only the treacle-best, 

The wild cold wind may have the rest 

Of sweetness and that gentle touch 

And hand-spread and clover-nod 

Of farewell to all frosted sod 

Which count so little, mean so much — 

Next see him, his pig widgeon way, 

Tuck a rose-leaf in his lapel 

To show a rose-like look at chapel 

To beckon Phyllis to look his way — 

Till, last, such long years after that, 

Scarce knowing what he is looking at, 

One rose close-folded in a book. 

Like heart in casket, while come to look 

And, lo, the tiny flower put there 



622 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Those very many years before, 

Nor lip to it now nor honey-store 

Nor pink cheek, yet all so fair 

And choice to him past all compare 

He finds his whole heart folded there. 

Best is last, last last is best 

Because one harvest of all the rest — 

How any day, any leaf will fly 

Into rich raiment the hour they die: 

So of Natalie, now she was gone, 

A new love come to take her place, 

The last best love of any race 

Of men since any men were born, 

To learn how best is just beyond 

What makes for gain to them or power 

To gain gain, howsoever fond 

They grow of their pigging hour; 

One best other best is beyond. 

Comes last, so clear I see it so 

How soul is bound to be it so, 

How this poor pot of only youth 

I cook in for my love and truth 

Cools down, while comes another better 

Square in proportion as I lose 

The thing I first begun to choose. 

And — there 's my truth to the letter! 

Keen love of Natalie came first, 

Love of the mother next and last. 

Yet not in time to be surpassed, 

Let Heaven's dominion do its worst — 

There she is now left to me now. 

Nor tint of cheek, not one slip 

Of geranium in her parlor-lip. 

Hand shelved against the pure great brow 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 623 

As if for one fast long sleep — 

Yet soul is there to the richest deep. 



XXVI 

Clacky's turn was next — poor Clacky 

Who proved he was both prince and lackey, 

As one who serves and will wince 

For love of you, at your wink; 

Did you once pause ever this to think 

How he, of the two, is real prince? 

Tame time-worn Clacky — his stoop 

Now fetched him round like a barrel-hoop 

Inside which gathered xeres and jelly 

To give him his big barrel-belly. 

So that, take him from head to keel, 

He was one wheel within a wheel. 

Always he took with him his gaff 

He would hook in a tree or cup 

Of feldspar to pull him open-up. 

Then the one strange end of a laugh. 

Like a rustling gown, spring-new style, 

Complete chuckle without the smile, 

His joy that in any kind of weather 

He need not pull himself together! 

His turn now to die, poor fellow. 

He took two thoughts to him which made 

His last task hard, eye-light mellow 

As a star when it begins to fade, 

His painfullest thought this, 'though I dare 

Not swear it was his first for fair. 

That he must leave my mother and me 

Alone so, in such eternity; 



624 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

His second, how this life was sweet 

So long as he could bibble, eat, 

While to leave it and not to know 

If juice and jam should play their part 

In the new large other after-heart. 

Wheresoever his soul might go. 

Was such down-come, such cut-under. 

Such a kind of quaint God-blunder, 

Truth being this, that his pig-hunger 

Made of him tripe and melon-monger. 

While he, in his last days, so stript 

Of what, to tickle his ribs, he had lipt. 

Of what he once labored to get enough, 

Pigeon-pattie or blubber-puff 

To soften his soul, harden his crup, 

Straighten his crooked spine-line up. 

He lord pot-knight of the place, 

Could do the drinking of his race — 

To have to throw up hands, go 

To a closet in the blue dead air, 

Nor lip to ask, nor skull to know 

If puff or pattie waited him there 

Was, to all his eye-wide wonder, 

Of all that happened above or under, 

Just the one God-foolishest blunder. 

Well, he did his best — God knows 

How a man dies as a spike-rush blows 

To die the same way as all the rest. 

While one thing just will count a man 

In this plying and dying plan. 

That he staked his all on it, did his best. 

For that, just, there blooms one part 

I keep for Clacky in this heart, 

One warmest large deep lasting part. 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 625 

XXVII 

One day came which tried to do me 
Its worst : one cloud, spotted buff to black, 
So rounded as a leopard's back, 
Showed mouth to open, lip spumy- 
Just over me, all as if the thing 
Were ready for one giant-spring ; 
The castle inside grew death-gloomy 
As lay my mother there scarce able 
To make one short breath comfortable 
In the sulphur-mix of air which came 
And went about us, hissing gases 
Sucked up between mountain-passes 
With here or there the lick of flame 
To warn us — I and my mother 
Alone in the Moon, never another 
Live soul, we two so alone, 
Just my determined monotone 
To make the most of it and the best, 
'Though no way clear was manifest 
For life to a purpose as men see 
One only purpose in life to be 
To get more life, get more longing 
To long-stretch it, get more belonging. 
Counting it all true value to be 
World-mighty, not man-mightily 
Manned against worlds, against fate, for fate. 
Small matter what the end or forfeit. 
This leopard-day, latest morning. 
Arbalest in arm, I took my path 
Up Petavius, sky scorning, 
In through yellow aftermath . 
To see if I could trap a fox 



626 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Or crow-shrike between the rocks — 
Their Hfe for my life — a man will breathe 
A trifle louder, somewhat longer, 
Pull his shins up a little stronger 
If he get a Untie between his teeth — 
Came then, sudden, this new thought: 
Claims not all life one right to live? 
There I, for my own heart, could not 
Take life away which I could not give. 
Since each small thing which creeps. 
Slaps back, spits, puffs, eats, and sleeps 
Is like me, just a soul-size smaller, 
I cousin to it and biped crawler . 
For more power so I may, at will. 
Trample, slash, smash, stick, and kill, 
Yet see nor man in it nor love 
Nor soul-flight nor spirit-trait 
Under the starlights or above 
To noble me, to count me great — 
So moralled, just so I acted, 
So too, as matter of fact, did 
What I thought my best to do, 
Just the very best I knew 
Heart could crave, soul could boast. 
And hell could take the hindermost: 
Back I brought my empty pouch 
That day, and never bird, I vouch. 
Mark now how the thing called Right 
Runs, in the long run, friend with Might, 
As by one law above crown, above curse, 
Which surely circles the universe: 
Scarce was I come to Griffard gate 
Where the clock's hand pointed late 
When, far from me overhead and straight 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 627 

As I could look to the zenith, flew, 

By one round flight, my eagle-king 

To cut one cleanest perfect ring 

For pastime in his lap of blue, 

Flung such sweep at it, circled so far, 

I thought I saw him lassoo a star. 

Next instant, by one shoot-up quick 

As pickerel plunges in his creek, 

Came he to one wonderful poise 

Plumb clean over the castle peak, 

As cloud will when soft wind buoys, 

And, whether on the thing intent 

Or by some kind of accident. 

Ere I could put me half on guard 

He dropped a grouse in our marble yard. 

Could it be this way: he knew 

How I and my mother grew 

To hungerment as each moment flow ? 

Or was it Clacky who could now 

Have put it in the eagle's brow 

To feed us — Clacky, who one day learned 

Life is hope when chops are churned. 

Who now, saints grant it, so had luffed 

To somewhere where his ribs were stuffed. 

So took compassion on us to tell 

The eagle he must feed us well? 

Be it either way, plain there was 

One of those supremity-laws 

Which make for power if there come cause 

For performance, transcendant duty, 

And man play man for love of Beauty. 

There now on her chopper-cot lay 

My mother, bedded just inside 

Pale curtains where Moonlights hide — 



628 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

How I could see it was her last day ! 

Just at the bed-edge I was sitting 

To watch one plum-bush at our window 

The mountain wind stripped and thinned so 

The branches worked cross-wise, as if knitting 

While there was I too being stripped 

Like a falcon, all talons clipped, 

To be left there behind to weave 

Nothing which I could perceive 

Save heartache and hard grieving, 

So watched the tiny bush-ends weaving, 

Held her, my mother, by each hand, 

Knew one next light whisper-sigh. 

If drawn, must breathe me her good-bye, 

Watched each cheek, saw shoulder-skin 

Hug the bone-sides closer in. 

As a swallow will, full might. 

Clap her wings close to and tight 

Just before she takes to flight. 

Branch of her young hyssop plant 

Took one downward oblique slant 

To her pillow, just there to lie. 

Much as if wanting, too, to die. 

The clock — strange, there was no time 

Which looked us, nor use of chime. 

Since nought to do was, to think, to see, 

All time all the one to me — 

The clock was stopping, each hist 

Came more muffled — so I missed 

The time-tick in her gentle wrist. 

My mother's wrist, so tiny small 

I could scarce see wrist at all. 

Right as I came to thinking on 

What must come of me and she gone, 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 629 

What I could dream at, what I should do 

If her fine hand were there no more, 

Robin-eye of such buoyant blue 

To put me steady, strong as before, 

Came there just one slightest cast 

Of lip one side, one softest breath 

I took to be her solemn last 

Sweet welcome to welcomest death, 

Begun to speak, each eye broke free 

As I have seen two stars look out 

Once the cloud is put to rout, 

All her whole look meant for me. 

Such eye-light out of mighty dawn 

To star me and stay me, on and on. 

Thought I, I saw such look of rest 

Come in her face as now she drew 

One paper from its hiding-breast 

To hand to me — by which I knew 

That was there she could not say 

Now death had once begun to play 

Between the lips — this only, "The Truth" — 

Her last words — 't was all she said — 

Drew her last sigh in and was dead. 

Oh, what is this lonely power 

Of spirit, every hour by hour 

To grow, only to lose, the flower. 

Unless the whole sweetness of it be 

My soul-part which grows for me 

Nobler new Beauty I may not see 

For blindness to all reality ! — 

Could real being cease to be. 

There could be no eternity 

Of Beauty for sign to me — 

My blindness, which I call death 



630 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

In her who only lacks a breath 

To talk again, to look less 

Than this new wondrous loveliness 

I feel at, yet may not know, 

The Beauty of it blinding so, 

So that, 'twixt me and my sweet friend 

There lives one spirit, soul without end. 

To which the live creations bend? 

So between me and my mother, 

One soul between us two, no other. 

As so it seems now, for instead 

Of her there who so deeply sighed 

To leave me, who so looked like dead, 

I thought it was myself that died. 



Her letter — her last voice, 

Like one white wave of breath 

To come to me just after death 

To heart me to make right choice 

'Twixt knocking under to play whipped. 

And mounting, spirit-fashion, to down 

This bold universe and its frown, 

I not to know I had been stripped— 

Her letter — all just as it was, 

I give it you now, clause for clause: 

"When I am gone, after then. 

But before you close my eyes 

Like lockets to keep your face 

Forever in their hiding-place. 

Have one look to me again, 

Circumspectly, more precise. 

Raise the head just, have a care 



Moon Fields, or Man the (jod 631 

You smoothc back my white drift of hair— 
You '11 find the spring-auburn under there! 
Remove, then, each pine-marten mask 
Of cheek, nor ever mind the task 
Of painstaking to uncrinkle 
Each little wholly hand-made wrinkle; 
Remove pale pigment, the collar-coat 
Which snugs to smuggle my white throat — 
Next, having done that much, why then 
Have one look to me again 
To find how craftily is truth 
Concealed, by every way, from youth; 
To find, in what remains that is fair 
Of her which death thought good to spare, 
Enough to show you your Natalie there! 
But how could it happen so, you ask; 
Why the old cheek, withered mask 
For quaint counterfeit to make plain 
You should not know Natalie again? 
Let me, then, nothing prefatory, 
Come straight to the truth of the story : 
Your uncle wanted me for wife, 
That much you knew at start; 
He knew he could not have my heart. 
Though on that hazard was staked his life. 
Your young love of me he knew, 
Knew you were nobler than he, too. 
So held advantage through and through; 
By fair means he could look to never 
Way to compass his end in view. 
So thought him of what he counted clever, 
One way to baffle and snafifle you : 
First he would clap me in the tower, 
A task all as easily done 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 

As to command the setting sun 

To set and do it on the hour, 

Seeing he was chief, could command, 

So caught me one day by the hand. 

And 'We will go,' he said, 'to see 

How things go in the rookery,' 

Till, all before I scarce could wink 

An eye open to try to think. 

He had me there for not a word 

More than ' he had caged his bird.' 

There that night he left me to see 

How I liked traps, gave me taste 

Of his kind of supremacy 

Before he should risk it to waste 

An hour to try to bring me to terms — 

Soul yields most, thought he, when it squirms. 

One night won me — so the next day 

I was quite ready, within reason. 

To do what should not prove true treason 

To you — he might have his way 

And welcome, so the scheme was what 

Could compromise my conscience not. 

So next day there almightily 

He came, as always small men do 

With power they are not wonted to, 

To talk of himself small-mightily. 

Proved the guzzle-pig, lord prelate 

Of kickshaw- wisdom, last appellate, 

And then — how, by Jove, could a girl 

Resist his eye-making, that curl 

Of kitten- whisker tied to his chin, 

Latch-string to pull at to get in, 

Or how under Orpheus could I quell 

My liking for the silver bell 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 633 

His voice had (as when he said, 

' You keep the tower till you are dead 

Or bow to my Apollo-spell,') 

Or how should I escape the snare 

Of his speckled tunic, collar-care. 

His tapestried paddles debonair 

For trapping a maiden unaware? 

Senses, but how the wild man talked, 

Eyed me, snapped the wolf and balked! — 

First, he loved me, I was his dove 

Of divine message, which was love — 

Then the white lip, scarce he would breathe 

For glaring at me not to conceal 

His ultra-blazes to let me feel 

Most like a dove between his teeth. 

Next following came this postulate 

Of peace, my one way of freedom 

And old joy and new gleedom, 

Which I must reckon with for bait : 

You must be weaned — come straight to that 

For beacon 'one ' to be headed at ! 

For his purposes, in his view, 

He had had quite enough of you 

For mixing so in his affairs 

Of heart, so was it just about 

The vertex of his curves and squares 

To count himself in, count you out. 

So here was his way which he planned 

To put me all at his command : 

I must play the mother to you, 

Mother in every kind of view, 

Play my part and play it true, 

Or leave my bones there to doze, 

Pasture and pastime for the crows ! 



634 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

I once the mother, he knew, he said, 

Natalie must comit for dead, 

Since this much he surely knew, 

Your great mother-love in you 

Would come first under heaven's blue 

So he coiild put terms to you— you would agree 

To think no more of your Natalie 

So soon as 3^ou should come to see 

There was no choice, nor any other 

Way for you to clasp the mother. 

Such was his melee of trick and whim 

He put my lip to — I, too, no choice 

But wear new cheeks, pipe an old voice, 

Mother to you, Natalie to him. 

Seeing how, by such means, 't was plain 

I could be free to take an hour 

To drop to you my word or flower, 

Hold you near to me again. 

Enough said — so, cosmetic-cup, 

Paint-brush he took to smutch 

My chin to get the wrinkle-touch. 

Whiten the red down, white the white up, 

Enamel-plaster each new place 

About my eyes to rob my face 

Of my young look, Natalie-smile, 

Chalk my chin, unyouth my brow 

The way the very devil knows how 

By sorrow-colors of bile and chyle. 

Two slaps of mucilage to the task 

Of holding the pine-marten mask 

Across each shoulder of each cheek 

So not an eye could chance to speak. 

Till his art-eyed iconoclasty 

Came to outrival meloplasty 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 635 

To grow wrinkles so each yellow fold 

Should match his purpose, make me old. 

At last you came, and soon I knew 

I was under the roof of blue 

For freedom to give my soul to you. 

Why then, you will want to know, 

Did I not speak and have it so? 

Were you put once, in your days, 

Where, in a case of life and death, 

You had no voice, not a bubble's breath, 

But all was settled for you by ways 

Which soul knows best, you know least 

As any stomachy squash-beetle priest, 

So you could not perform otherwise 

Against the heaven's eternal eyes 

Than swallow its verdict of pain and prize? 

Well, there you have it — there was I 

To flutter between earth and sky 

Much as the blunder-butterfly — 

This my claim to be forgiven: 

I chose yonder spotted heaven. 

Which was your love you had for her 

Whom you saw never in life before, 

Whom I knew you to so prefer 

To Natalie, over and overmore. 

Seeing I played both parts, so knew 

Both loves, could pick between the two. 

Do I not know those queen-bee days 

We took to humming at citron-time 

In and out among the bays 

To get an ear to the cattle-chime 

Or reed-birds at their whistling rhyme? — 

In my field-book, between the leaves 

Where life dies while spirit weaves, 



636 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

You will find my apple-flowers 

You brought me once between the showers, 

Locked there for one love, which was ours— 

Or do I not catch your song 

Which struck the hills like an eagle-gong 

To fetch my heart up clear and strong 

To bell-echo back to you to tell 

Through night-watches how all is well? 

Then the touch of earth — that sense 

Which never once made one pretence 

To open a secret, tell one thought 

Which was loftily spirit- wrought. 

Albeit you said I wore such charms 

Of loveliness, wine-eyed swooning, 

Cheek to chase cheek, honey-mooning. 

Held a whole Happy Land in arms — 

Then I came old, contrived to smother 

Breath of my youth, wipe off the stain 

Passion dabs in each cheek for vain, 

Took all sorts of trick and bother 

To look pallored, to play my role 

Of over-sweet gentle mother-soul 

Which puts nor praise up nor blame 

But love only, always the same 

Fine kindliness which takes no part 

Of life for herself, only for you. 

To be that womanful and true 

To her shallow cheek, deep-down heart, 

As holds men fastened and vastened too — 

Then was it there I came to see 

What this mother-role meant for me: 

Once I got the arm of the son 

About me I could not once play 

One word to bid you take it away, 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 637 

We two now so completely one 

To the white end of what may flower 

In mortals in one spirit-hour, 

That to have snapped such chain in two 

Had broken your idol, mine too. 

Since I for mother, you for son. 

The reign of true love once begun, 

I could see your other love 

Was parroty, so kept an eye out 

For fear forever it might die out, 

Just passing passion, never enough. 

One love blossoms out of earth, 

Good for only what it is worth ; 

The other, such deep lasting other 

Love you nourish for the mother 

Held in it never claim to worth 

For anything to be got from earth, 

Never took one look to spy 

Amethyst in the morning eye, 

To see if spring once left its coat 

Of lily-leaf in the underthroat, 

Never would have twist or kinkle 

Different from each blessed wrinkle 

Which wrote of heartache and care. 

Of all her love of you which was there 

Forever, and so marvellous fair. 

One love leads down to your world 

Whose cheek is sunrise, mouth pearled, 

Tresses pretty morning-purled 

About the eye which shoots desire 

So I see back of it the fire 

Burns down and out, not up and higher. 

While your fine other love ascends 

Where soul starts and this world ends, 



638 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Neither eye nor lip nor cheek 

To win you, nor way to speak 

Half the half part there is of it, 

So much you cling to it and love it, 

The while you may not dream to know 

How it beckons to win you so 

The while you may not touch nor near it, 

Dome-deep dominion of the spirit. 

So you loved me when you took 

Me for the mother, not the lover. 

With not one brilliant lover-look 

Nor brow of dreams to float above her, 

All things for her, no thought pelfish 

Nor little wish a little selfish 

Till through it I could clearly see 

How love was, how it could be 

Beyond purpose, to have no end 

In sight aloof and aside 

From just the perfect spirit-bride 

To selflessness, heart-bonded friend. 

Of love I must have the best, 

Nor care I how your world thinks 

The other way is manifest 

Of purpose to link those links 

Which go to string the endless chain 

Which turns the round world 'round again. 

Seeing, as I see, all worst 

Means best at last if I seize chance 

To trick or conquer circumstance. 

So do my most for slake of thirst. 

For betterment, or count life curst, 

The spirit-last of me comes first. 

There is why I kept me the mother 

To you, while now that I know 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 639 

How almightily truth is so, 

I tell you, now my day is done 

And past, and now you find me gone. 

There comes no love to us under the sun 

Bright Heaven looks down so smiling on." 

XXIX 

Her letter — there now was why 

She rather would take her way to die 

And not one word to me nor sign 

Of who she was, so she could be 

So whole-soulfully wholly mine 

As to fill her heart too, she to see 

I forgot there was any Natalie. 

Love only — not once one thought 

Of what was being lost, what not — 

Love, the superlative best 

Last love, above all the rest, 

And I have this high prosperous truth, 

The very root of the matter, forsooth: 

Think how your mortal best you do 

For love of what is highest true 

May not one gulden profit you ! 

Think again how the best that is 

In life you fear to lose or miss 

May put you wrong, at last, like this: 

Scarce comes aught you think to do 

In a day's round just to profit you 

But it were nobler not to do! 

Will I pick my ballad-chat 

To pieces just to try his fat; 

Spit him through by chop-house art, 

If once I hearken to my heart? 



640 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Who could bring him once to carve 

His fortune by his genius-thought 

To see one other brother starve 

Who has not the like master forte, 

If he will join him, cheek by jole, 

Stop to think how, on the whole, 

Things are all different in the soul? 

There 's age to tell too of such truth : 

Age makes another kind of youth, 

A new beginning of all other 

Than pill-bugs in a pot of bother, 

For here is one fact about age: 

There it lies on the Finis-page, 

Far as gormandy counts at least, 

Shows never purpose, looks not before 

For handful of power to gather more, 

Shuns the old humdrum of drink and feast, 

Yet there it goes to the fag-end stitch 

Of love which is deep and true and rich. 

Like a stream, after dark, will cool and creep 

So softly I think it dead asleep. 

Yet holds all the stars there, down deep. 

What- 'though I put me all day long 

At music to bell-bellow song 

If the key-pitch in it jingle wrong? 

Smash your way by shoulder-strife, 

Crush to conquer, clap hands to know 

How everywhere life lives on life. 

Yet who is there lives and loves it so? 

Take the round world's tommy stir-muss, 

What more is there of soulful purpose 

Than the hungry snuffle of a porpoise? 

Yet is it life, while men must live. 

So they think, to have their day 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 641 

Like dogs, an hour to tooth and slay 
For power to take, nor power to give 
The best is theirs, to drop one word 
Which after them shall be always heard 
For soulfulness and heartfulness and fair, 
Chime-song in the sunset air. 
Sure is there in man what keeps 
Hand uppermost nor drops nor sleeps, 
But puts upward, keeps the eye ever 
Keen to some new wheresoever 
Of other mightiness and loveliness 
Than he gets in this Moon-hoveliness, 
For mark how now that I have shown 
Man has manned himself, has grown 
To see in him a new kind of elf 
All different from the other self 
He knows of, which once he was, 
Pipe for the trumpet-blast of wars' 
Cruel slaughter for cruel cause 
So he should come to fix his jaws 
On power, wealth, wallowing 
To dream his dream of swallowing. 
Since now is seen that there is of him 
This new self which comes above him 
To outface fashion, to ruin custom, 
Get a fairer cassock and lustrum, 
For see now how I look to pause. 
Startle at what the world once was 
Or now is — at what I must do 
To live in it, be part of it too: 
Take the thing I call success, 
Which is life's life, nor more nor less, 
I compass by my mightiness. 
While to think my brother must part 



642 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

With most of it, who has not my art 
To conquer, will hurt my heart. 
To show there 's that in me will rise 
King- wing manner just as flies 
A blossom's breath toward the skies. 
She took her one way to love, 
So far from her world and above 
As to challenge me to discover 
Any love could come above her 
For such high-hearted constant lover 
As to lay her down and to die 
Nor tell me once of how or why 
She made her finest choice to lay 
Path to my soul by the mother-way 
Which saw no gain in it to her 
Which men call gain and so prefer, 
But love only, such kind of love 
As comes to us all over and above 
All else, nor cares for any measure 
Of life by power, hope, pleasure, 
Soul-conscious of what is enough, 
The greatness of such selfless love 
As never ever will count the cost 
Of what is missed in the world or lost. 



From my uncle I learned the Value of Right; 
From my Natalie I learned the love of it; 
The two together make human Might, 
Yet your world gets scarce a snuff of it! 
One thing more we Moon-men were taught, 
One truth you earth-people never knew. 
The Value of Man, how he may be wrought 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 643 

In all colors, out to red and blue, 

By being free to throw his fin 

Of orange, of enamel pink, 

Take his own way to swim and blink. 

Nor try to swallow your azulin, 

Play your poltroon altar-kink. 

The Value of Man — there 's one trick 

Would baffle all arithmetic! 

To lop him, make him your like. 

Head-end thin as a marline-spike. 

Big enough, by dodging self and sin. 

For you to mix in your nipperkin 

To swallow; next you snuff and smile 

Like a bullbeggar, dominie style, 

To see him try to stretch and skew 

To catch a breath in your ugly spew 

Of pickle-trick magic to tell 

What narrow shave 'twixt heaven and hell 

Is his, and but for you 

God knows what his small soul would do — 

And there 's your noodle-noddle plan 

To split his pluck like an ortolan, 

Meek little face-up fearful man ! 

Moon-men know not such your way 

To make a man over, have him do, 

Think, slink, wriggle, spit like you, 

Seeing, and we 're bound to say, 

Man has in him so to grow 

More than he could guess to know 

Once you give him one whole chance 

Himself to conquer circumstance 

His way, not yours, his thinking, 

Not your stuffy stickleback-blinking. 

That he may, shoulders up, full might. 



644 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

Fetch his own crown-kingdom-height, 

Man, to be man, shall be himself, 

Neither Ghibelin nor Guelf, 

The whole of him, not part of him, 

Head and soul and pluck and heart of him 

For all he is as God made him, 

Nor your black wing to overshade him. 

This much Moon-men knew in their day. 

That man, to play color, shall have free play 

To strike at random, always his way 

If he would fetch his foremost display. 

Many-sided, this soul of man, 

And angled, on the diamond-plan, 

Fircful too, meant to spit forth 

One stripe south, another stripe north, 

So he may swing him free to dangle 

His Nile-blue, his ox-blood spangle. 

You not to wear him in your bosom 

For fast, like an eye, to look your way 

Without a wink, always to play 

One color only and that you-some. 

You of earth keep your one thinking: 

Eye-shut is wiser than eye- winking. 

So, not to man-alive, but instead 

You drop on all fours to the dead, 

And all for this, that they once knew 

Enough to do their own thinking through 

To the red end, and no thanks to you! 

Each man makes himself apart. 

Like no other, as one summer's art 

Will fork so many pretty leaves 

Of lemony toad-flax to a stem. 

One cut of armor for all of them. 

While, lo, what different pauldrons and greaves! 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 645 

Man has of him, each one, that what 

Strikes higher than one mould of thought, 

To wit, his true self, to be brought out 

Straight in spite of your hollow flout — 

Not always shall men tie to trees, 

Mock-bird style, to catch the wheeze 

Of Sappho or Simonides. 

Man there in your world goes yearning 

To learn, not himself, but to learn learning, 

Nor thinks ever how, by such his plan. 

His learning is only another man 

Made manifest for what he was. 

More than a copy-croak of daws 

Or tidif swung by an origan. 

Truth is, your whole planet-schooling 

Makes one kind of April-fooling 

To decoy men, tempt each astray, 

Each from himself to catch a lay 

Of one chuckling Aristophanes; 

As if first purpose were to please 

The soul of Anaxandrides, 

Bring him out in place of bringing 

You out and your soul of singing ! 

I do well to see each time 

I pull bell-rope which shall chime 

Me, not the other one there 

Thumbing his own carillon-air. 

Not what you thought, not what he taught, 

Nor what the whole creation wrought 

Makes matters overmost for me. 

But what this "soul-self I" shall be, 

Do, think, smash, or button into 

More than your mere mezzotinto. 

After knowing, as I know, I 'm soul 



646 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

To compass and command the whole 

Of purposey power to become 

Somewhat other than your drum 

You thrash at, whack by whack, 

To get your cudgel-music back ! 

We Moon-men once found way to be 

What there is in us soulfully 

Or brainfully or each other way 

To come above this crust of clay 

To make the last royalest most, 

Each one his own holy ghost, 

To be all what of him to span 

His one round dominion plan 

Of man the God, which is man the man. 

I turned the glass-piece left, so I read: 
Nothing is there, since glass is dead, 
While the light is born is alive and red. 



Alone! oh, to be alone! 

Stuck like a fly in a globe 

Trying, I would think, to probe 

New Chameleon or Draco-zone, 

For what purpose I 'm left to guess 

And make the best of loneliness. 

Wits up to me, 'though, to guess 

There 's value in just that loneliness I 

Oh, to be alone — not in one world only. 

But in the galaxy-sweep of worlds 

Through which soul grieves and grows and pearls, 

And not a voice, no worm that curls, 

Nothing that lives, just I only 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 647 

To look out at the polyglot sky 

To outface it and outsoul it and die 

The God's death, for the man of me, 

No space mighty as the span of me, 

I to the rescue of me only 

By no Moon-shine Heaven of Hope, 

No atom to gain, none to lose, 

No death to dodge, no Hfe to cruise. 

Save that my power in me will grope 

Pilot-like to such vast scope 

Of mightier growth, spirit- force 

Which, 'spite of worlds, will keep its course 

To Beauty, which is truth and might. 

To tuck sparks in all kinds of night — 

To be alone is to be never lonely. 

Be you you, your own self only. 

My Natalie-mother — I laid you where 

Violets fill to choke with dew 

And sweet and sky, like the soul in you — 

By the castle- wall I laid you there. 

Just underneath our galba-tree 

Where I first brought you bryony. 

Morning gentianella flowers. 

Where you first caught the peeany 

Fine flood-throat of a veery 

Which shook the air into morning showers 

Of song of which you shall never weary 

And he drop them to you, o'er and o'er, 

Till the mountains be no more ! 

So was I stripped — such a stripping, 

As if all powers against me were bent 

On crushing purpose all by ripping 

Moon-reality out of me — what meant 

Else the laugh in it now I was given 



648 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

A world to myself without the power 

To pluck one sempervivum flower, 

Get an after-whiff of it even, 

Nor power to take to me nor to ply 

An inch of Moon, snapdragon-clad, 

To joy me, to half make me glad, 

More than a miller may fret his sky? 

Am I done then — is that about all 

There is of the thing when I am done. 

My fly-bobbing in a day's sun. 

The upshot of it so poor, so small 

As to make my manfulness of soul 

Into color, fancy, fire, power. 

To reach up like one gillyflower 

Only to topple in the end, the whole 

Like lichen reaches to sip, then squirms 

His low bow to his bench of worms? 

Be it so, or be it so 

It is not meant for me to know. 

Either way, yet I reckon not 

What that counts in my bench of thought 

And I the very soul which sees. 

Moulds and holds what Beauty is 

From bell-moth up to pyramis 

Of suns — I the soul which trees 

Each spark, each cloud-chocolate stripe 

To keep them till they fully ripe — 

I the man to be awarded 

Just my soul and nought beside, 

Neither pay nor Whitsuntide, 

Not man-mastered nor God-lorded, 

But I, just I for what I 'm worth 

To conquer this kingdom of an earth 

Of soul-shock, which is life and death 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 649 

And power to beat the mother-breath 
Clean out of me as I pant 
For purpose to lord it up the slant — 
While so what of it more than this, 
That I know who the master is 
Of me, of my dominion-soul 
Which masters to complete the whole 
Of what is meant I shall be and do — 
My thumb-snap to Peter and Paul and you ! 
Here now am I in this Moon alone, 
All others gone, and she too gone. 
Her circum-soular arm withdrawn — 
You know how such an arm will leave 
Dark only of the empty sleeve — 
A world tumbled into my lap 
Which I may neither drop nor tap 
Nor play with to call my own 
'Though lord of it all — nought is yours 
If there be in the world no other 
Soul you look there to for brother 
Whom comparison praises, scores — 
There 's no self of me — self is left out 
If there be no one else about 
In the world for mirror in whom you 
Discover yourself by brothering to — 
If no self to me, so no selfishness. 
Not the tiny ounce of pelfishness, 
Seeing all there is is mine. 
Yet all not worth one kitten-whine — 
I there for mastery to learn this : 
Nothing goes in God's universe 
Of kingliness which ends in curse. 
Nor matters it what the seeming is. 
You would think, just to see me now 



650 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

I stand here on this Moon-beam brow 
Without one purpose life could give 
Or theme of glory in it now, 
That at last is a last end come, 
Since now this life of mine has done 
Its best for me all under the sun. 
Nought now where so much begun, 
Yet am I not here as before. 
Body less, but spirit more, 
One great map of Moon and all 
My own, and yet so piping small 
There comes to me this : I 've outgrown it 
Now I 've come to clutch and own it. 
Have grown to this much more to see 
How little the gist of it must be 
If measured by the soul in me? 
There was my life of righteousness, 
Your only kind of mighteousness 
Which stands alone, needs no God 
To pucker to to try to wheedle 
Into minding your tom-tweedle 
To chasse to your parrot-nod. 
But alone just, to make my fight 
Against such supreme cosmos-might 
As cowed man ever, made him blunder 
Into looking up, knuckling under. 
Held him to mouth-open wonder 
At what he was, at how he was. 
Kept him picking for a cause. 
While all his long complaining days 
Never side-look from him to gaze 
To see how one vast universe-plan 
Means only to mould the soul of a man. 
So, now, having once come to this 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 651 

That my spirit makes all there is 

Worth coming to, next then I see 

That to be perfect I shall be free, 

Self -dependant, myself wholly, 

Not a wink of your melancholy 

Beggary or your weak whining 

Which brings men to their merest pining 

After this or other than just the soul 

And soul of them which is the whole 

Of Beauty, body moulding it 

Like a pot, death unfolding it. 

Put me once self-dependant free, 

You may put all burden on me 

To find me ripe for fighting it, 

— Value of wrong comes of righting it — 

That way is it the best of me 

Blossoms not if the rest of me 

Be put under foot, hard held down, 

'Though the weight of it be a crown. 

More than peach-leaf broads an inch 

If prisoned in my finger-pinch. 

Made is this world for man 

For him to do what most he can 

To outgrow it, to come above it, 

Wean him to not over-love it. 

Seeing my Moon is one rounded egg 

I chafe in just to pick and peg 

The shell off so to have my run 

In dew-grass which sprinkles sun 

Of other than the amber-type 

Of moss-pink, thistle-stripe, 

So soul may flower and tower and ripe. 

Make for whatever end you see 

To come to for the Heaven in fee, 



652 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

There 's other nobler yet to be! 

Moon-men love God — but there enough 

Of worship, their heart of love — 

For right there, mark you, they stop. 

Nor whisper more to the naked top, 

While you court God in his universe 

All to take him for better, for worse, 

While by so much as you take to you 

One thought of him to twist askew 

One atom of the man in you 

You make of him canker-worm and curse. 

Given the whole Hell that could be given 

For you to swallow or think of even, 

Who would be Jesused into Heaven, 

Or Petered out of it, or Pauled 

Into power, he greatened and you smalled, 

Till just about the consummate all 

Left of you is the master — Paul? 

So your Templedom (barring just love. 

Which makes temple and worship enough,) 

Makes for the littlement of man. 

Not the largement of him — your trick 

To trim him to your closet-plan 

Of limits to his bailiwick 

To bring him to his meeks and knees 

To make him putty-brute just to please 

God, all by his shuffling under — 

Man made just to gape and wonder 

And not know, never to force 

His way against worlds, against Gods 

By one sublimest Beauty-course 

Which circles above odds and sods 

Where zenith and zenith shall fall, 

And he there master of it all ! 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 653 

Mischance, each hard sorrow-duty, 

Day-dark of cuff and buffet, 

Make greatness, make love to love it, 

Make opportunity which is great. 

Make my garden-wall where Beauty 

Climbs, 'though climbing sun be late. 

Where star-flowers finger to rise 

To wheel their sweetness in the skies. 

Am I to be downed, I here alone, 

Or must I get to my knees to know 

What means it, why God made me so, 

Never to come to my single throne 

Of spiritous purpose, mastrous endeavor 

To soul me to that kingdom-height 

Which out-riots wrong, out-mighties might 

To stand alone, which wins ever, 

I for more than bunch of spoons 

To dip from your dish, face alabastercd 

To your cut to be Moon-mastered 

So never to be master of Moons? 

Here 's plain truth: On the spirit-plan 

Man gets to be God by being man. 

Not putty-work, nor face of glass 

To catch your image as you pass. 

As mark now how I once am clear 

And clean of what men prize in life. 

Gold, power, or hope, or fear 

Or any coroneted career 

Which follows easiness, dodges strife. 

Nought left me out of every whole 

Vast Moon-gut save my dominant soul 

Which kept pace and beyond, so grew 

As all around me stood to fall 

Till I could sense it so I knew 



654 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

How pit-sunk, how lousy small 

The gainway is, from bib to pall, 

My soul sole sovereign of it all 

And more, power to reach beyond 

What men count rich in life, hold fond, 

To force forward to one other day 

Of new smilax, of different sun, 

Where soul which is moulded out of clay 

May strike out loose to have one run 

In Beauty, which man scarce feels. 

So much is he crop and jaws and heels. 

This I know by seeing how all 

I thought once great rounds up so small 

As to leave me only this my soul 

Which grew, while all around me dwindled 

Until it seemed my soul was swindled, 

But only as in an air-ship I roll 

Away from earth, begin to rise, 

Do fields small down as I top the skies. 

Power of virtue, forceful duty 

Make for power of soul, which is Beauty, 

The thing each cosmos marshals fight 

To untangle so to bring to light — 

I the man of not a master, 

Whether God or Devil, to be put 

Image-like, stuck in your plaster, 

Nor out of sight, nor under foot, 

Nor face-up, nor knee-down. 

Nor smirk- wise, nor trained to beg, 

Parrot tied to your closet-peg. 

Nor to little me by your thinking 

Gain 's to be gained by any shrinking — 

I the man of not a master. 

Whether God or Paul or Pastor, 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 655 

But just my integral master-soul 

To strike for Beauty, which is the whole 

Of holiness and all conscious power 

To widen and sweeten and pinken, 

Which nests in the lapel of each flower, 

Spirit to spread wing to so rise 

As to outmatch worlds, outkingdom skies 

By that other Beauty I may not see 

Since it now makes the whole of me, 

Since now it is the soul of me 

I fight for, I now to be free 

To splash my streak of beryl-blue, 

Never nightshade from you or you, 

I to be free and free and free 

To soul my soul, to self my soul 

Long as the Moons about me bowl. 

Or perish the heart and whole of me ! — 

I the man of not a master. 

Since, proof against profit, disaster, 

I strike for Beauty nor I care 

What else you knick-knack, you that bubble 

To balance between joy and trouble — 

I strike for Beauty, all that is fair. 

For, look about me everywhere, 

What else find I save Beauty there. 

Beauty to grow by, to grow to, 

Beauty deep in the soul of you. 

Beauty when a lapwing drew 

His curve of fiy-green, copper, blue. 

As if to rainbow the heart of you 

In his sky of the copper fly-green hue — 

Beauty when a star plays hide 

By dodging just the other side 

Of a cloud so to get me looking 



656 Moon Fields, or Man the God 

To find it in a wider girth 
Than circum-bowls this guinea-earth 
I tie to for nooks and nooking — 
Beauty also when any loss is 
To you, when forty foulest crosses 
To thwart you multiply, so by might 
Of virtue, of pre-eminent Right, 
Patience, endurance-power. 
You catch the courage of a flower 
To ride storms out, to clinch and fight- 
Beauty when you know you stand 
Alone in the universal land 
Of star-space, you just, wholly you. 
Not another to knuckle to, 1 
Whether God, man, spink, or gnu. 
You there for your unique spirit 
And not a master to come near it, 
Not a stitch in a chasuble-hem. 
But sun-like among suns of sheen 
Which fall not since they never lean, 
You free as they for one of them — 
Beauty when you fear not to live. 
Beauty when you fear not to die. 
To have not a purpose save to give 
The best you have, nor query why 
Nor for what reason you live and die 
But Beauty, which is the whole of you, 
Beauty which is the soul of you. 
Beauty which blocks all questions too, 
Beauty, neither more nor less. 
Beauty its own sole governess, 
Whether flesh-pink, fustic, blue, 
Not to be once dictated to. 
Beauty of right and truth in you 



Moon Fields, or Man the God 657 

To conquer, to stand you through 

To where, by sorrow or hard duty. 

By Hfe, if bitter blight or fruity, 

You come to the last first best you are, 

One single circumsolar star, 

Part of all vast eternal Beauty — 

So, as I look on the gold blue face 

Of sky-fields and all Mooning place 

To come to match masters to try 

Which is master, they or I, 

I look again to my sunstone to see 

How soul, like light, will penetrate me 

To take shape and color and sweep 

Of flight into one unfathomed deep 

Of soul-shine, and I put it there 

To shapen, and so true and fair 

For my shape, my color, not yours. 

Neither God-lorded nor Paul- Petered 

Nor saint-sanctioned nor creed-metered. 

To glisten on new other shores, 

I the masterwho put it there 

For my shape, my color, true and fair. 

Like a stripe of blue forget-me-not 

To linger when the star-fields are forgot. 

I turn myself to another view, 
I let spirit splinter through, 
I get more than pink or blue, 
I get soul, which is endless new. 



NOT YOUR DOG! 

Not your dog, but mine! 
I saw you double-cut him to the quick; 
I saw him take your brutal kick 

Without a whine. 

Then, that look to me! 
Those large eyefuls which could not flow 
Now he had done his best to show 

Some love of thee. 

Sorrow, despair! 
Till, next, he turned such handsome face to me! 
What God's live creatures do not see 

What love they share? 

Nothing but a hound? 
But true as love — gentle, brave, true, 
And more the human heart than you 

When sought and found. 

How he looked to me 
To beg me by those eyes to play him friend. 
To crush the larger dog to end 

Life's wretchery ! 

You paid gold for him ! 
So gold makes master up to top 
By titles of an auction-shop. 

Pedlar's whim! 
658 



Not Your Dog ! 659 



Your claim is stuffed and blown! 
Your dog is mine for this, we throb as one; 
Mine till cowards fail to run 

And love has flown. 

Now, so, take my word : 
With God there goes nor dog nor worm nor man ; 
Soul is the soul on Nature's plan 

In man and bird. 

Ever gently then ! 
Who knows but one day yet may wheel around 
When, more than ever you '11 be hound. 

And dogs be men? 



BROTHERS 

Two graves lay low in a swamp-lot spot, 

Each traveller passed and noticed them not 

Now that the place had been most forgot; 
A single slab, which was ages old, 

Stood up for the two in a gown of mould, 

And the story is this which the tablet told: 

Two boys once played in a country field 
As you and I in our day have played ; 

Little was thought of the harvest yield, 

Life in the scales had been lightly weighed, 

Only a thump and plunge for the ring 

Of their wildest shout for the sport of the thing. 

The two were brothers — twins at that ; 

Both kept one way of coming at 
The thing they did to the drop of a hat ; 

Each took the skin-deep kind of bother 
Or curlew-leap of joy of the other 

To match him, and they were brother and brother. 

Years went by till they grew to be men ; 

The father died of his ripe old age; 
Conquering custom was king again 

As now they came to their heritage. 
Each one to share as the other did, 

His half, for so they inherited. 
660 



Brothers 66 1 

Pastures were few, scarce a farm in all; 

One garret of maize, an ox in stall, 
One orchard to lend a hand in Fall, 

While so it was said, for so men thought, 
The whole of it might have been sold and bought 

For the full of a tinker's guinea-pot. 

Next to divide the farm was a trick 

Each one tried and the thing went well ; 

Each took a dash at arithmetic 

To show his knowledge of link and ell, 

Till down to a hair and square as a Quaker 
The farm was divided, acre by acre. 

Save one deep well at the cedar-swamp lot 
Each wrangled for and neither one got, 

While their hearts grew cold as words blew hot ! 
Deep was the well and the spring was clear, 

The prize of it each one counted dear 

Now a contest was on — and the rub was here : 

More was the trick than either one knew 

Of how to divide a well in two, 
A claim which only one court could settle: 

Each one should put him to his mettle 
By elbow-force of iron flank 

To find which had the better shank. 

Agreed was it so that one should die — 

There was the well for the purpose nigh 

As this plan they drew, nor ever a sigh : 

Both men must clinch to wrestle pell-mell 

Till one threw the other into the well 

And was owner by force of his hero-spell ! 



662 Brothers 

Sharp at a word they were tooth and heel, 
You covdd see shots of fire fly out 

Of the eyes of each, see them wheel and reel 
To fling each other like bags about, 

Now at the hip for a cunning catch, 

Now tooth and claw, while each had his match 

To tear the other off from his throat 

Where each made fast by clutches, smote, 

Like a wild beast in a pigeon-cote. 

At the pit's edge to try to stumble 

His brother over to see him tumble 

Teeth first — two tigers in a jumble, 

When, at the well's edge where they struggled 
As giants might have threshed and juggled 

For uppermost, little thinking 

Each how his morning star was sinking, 

Never a thought of the wrong of it, 

Both tumbled headlong into the pit. 

Such a grave they picked, so kind folk came, 
Covered them over with turf and blame 

And this tiny slab which has lost the name. 
Only the sorrow-story has kept, 

Where many a good heart has knelt and wept 

For brothers who loved so and hated and slept. 

There they lie now, poor fellows — God knows 
For what they lie there under the snows. 

Lives lost and sunk, now nothing to tell 

What they were, but just this slab at the well 

And two small overgrown sunken sods — 

Yet they were brothers, and men are Gods ! 



MAN OR SPIDER ? 



There 's a spider strikes his beak! 

One blow of his jaw-rammer, 

Of his claw-hammer, 

Means death to the weak ! 

Just you watch him slink, 

Beat tracks to his hole, 

Stopping not to think, 

Showing never a soul, 

Dodges in and out, 

Venom in his pout, 

Poison in his snout! 

Take him at his best 
In his gun-barrel nest, 
Targets to a dot 
And he whistles free 
As a rifle-shot 
To let slip his sting 
For demony 
To split the wing 
Of a silver fly 
Dancing to sing, 
Dancing to die. 
663 



664 Man or Spider ? 

Mind his web of glass 

In pink and green 

Like a cuirass 

In copper sheen 

Of a morning hour 

For his spread of power, 

One wave of violet 

In buff and jet, 

Or pale at evening spread 

For a shroud instead 

To cover his dead ! 

What a master-stroke 
For a way to kill ! 
What a hand to choke 
In the throat and gill 
For a life to crush 
Into lasting hush 
For blood to spill ! 
Deceit and theft, 
Spy-bite and sting, 
And nothing is left 
Of the sorrel wing! 

I saw him lie 
At his hole one day 
Like a cannon-spy, 
Like a sword at play, 
Stab the Y-wing moth 
In his velvet cloth, 
Saw him duck to watch 
From his pistol-notch 
Just to feast his eye, 
Watch the Y-moth die. 
Drink his sigh. 



Man or Spider ? 665 



See, he hangs his net 
For the sun to touch 
Where the dew has set 
And the morning such 
As to drop each stripe 
Of geranium ripe 
In his cunning gripe, 
Or star-balls in blue 
Out of fire of dew, 
His heavenly type 
Of a trap for you! 

Is there good in him, 

A thought to care 

For life or limb 

Of a fly in air? 

Is there soul to feel 

How each hellish thrust 

Of his poison heel 

Is a step unjust, 

Is a crime to tell, 

A sepulchre-spell, 

A leap of hell? 



A girl once waited in your garden-plot — 

You know how she loved you all her soul 

To keep you for her only thought, 
Her avatar and the whole 

Trophy of her heart each day. 
As true women do their way, 

Which you know and I say ! 



666 Man or Spider ? 

Her kind pale face how it looked for you 

By one bunch of sweet-rocket just as white, 

Not one look of her but was true 

As stars prick through the blotted light, 

While there she stood watching for you, 
For her one man strong and true. 

As sweet women do. 

And yet her spirit has told her what, 

A thing you thought she never could know. 

Something wrong in you she half thought — 

But she would not think, since she loved you so, 

Which is why she was pale that day 
Her sweet trusting anxious way. 

Like a fawn at bay. 

Her locket coddled your face inside, 

The which she kept in her inside breast; 

Your knot of oxeye, moon-color dyed, 
She kept because you liked it best. 

But over and above them all 

She harked for your footstep fall. 

Your confident call. 

And what have you now to say to you 

Who brought her to pain of heart and mind 

Just for your whim of a day or two, 

And you intended to leave her behind 

To sorrow, as she would do, 
And you knew it too, 

For love of you? 

There was that last evening you saw 

She trusted you as you told her how 

She was all you were living for, 

And you gave her your solemn-knotted vow 



Man or Spider ? 667 

Of vast allegiance and love 

By the sweet Heaven above 
For solemn enough. 

You came again one elegant day, 

Brought her your spike of dragon flowers 

To speak for you with their mouth of May 

As there you played with her heart for hours ! 

As a hawk at a linnet dips 

You hovered close at the tips 

Of her coral lips 

As close by her yucca flowers she stood, 

Their twenty swords drawn as if to say: 

We are not here to be tricked and shooed, 
Hands off, or you end your day ! 

How could you steel you to take 
Her lips and leave the ache 

Your kiss would wake? 

Another afternoon, just ago. 

She stooped to pick, where she saw you pass. 
Ground-flowers made of mock-orange glow 

Because your shadow touched them in the grass; 
Was it that she half way knew 

Your shadow was the true 
Best part of you? 

Not so ! She would not let herself think 

You were aught else than her perfect man, 

As if truth were meant to choke and sink 
Ere love shall climb his meridian ! 

How she trusted you from start, 
How she bore the smart, 

Wasted her heart ! 



668 Man or Spider ? 

At last in her time she paled away — 

You came not again to take her hand, 

So she went alone to her higher day, 
Her new other pale perfecter land. 

Never one thought once but of you 
She tied such sweet longing to 

To her last day true. 

Give a moment my way, if you will : 
Under this cypress have one look 

At one little garden-plot hill ! 

See her steps she left, see her way she took 

Where she waits among her flowers for you 
Just as she used to do. 

Just the same way true! 



KNOW THY HORSE 

This time was winter — the road begun to sing 
Like a Stradivarius now a sleigh 
Drew bow without the fingering — 
Men would wince and pinch and pray 
For summer — you know the way ! 

Farmer Bosom and his wife took reckoning 
How they should have not an inch of use 
For Strutty, while just wintering 
A horse was waste — better choose 
To sell him than keep and lose. 

Such fine kind horse was Strutty, small doubt of that 
Had done round service, too, in his day, 
A point they pricked and halted at, 
Yet scarce could they feel a way 
To keep him — no work, no pay! 

So next day, now the thing was settled, "What say," 
Said Bosom, "if we write a notice 
To put his color proper bay, 
To tell how fine his coat is. 
His temper, for just so 't is?" 

Not so freely — neither Bosom nor his wife 
Had shouldered pen in either hand 
To scratch a thought in half a life, 
Scarcely now could understand 
How to take a pen in hand. 

66y 



670 Know Thy Horse 

Prime Rastus, he was one clever one, 't was said, 
Village auctioneer, could read and write — 
Why not try him, hire his head 
To do the shining bright, 
Put Strutty in a proper light? 

Prime Rastus, so, was summoned to take a hand. 
Put ink to purpose, let the world know 
What a horse was Strutty, how prime grand, 
How he would snort and polish so, 
How like splinters he could go. 

Here, then, I give it you, word for word, my word 

As just he wrote it for not a jot 

But Strutty's fine points must have spurred 

To praises so overwrought — 

Truth or no truth mattered not: 

Vide I 
A horse 
For selling 
For better 
Or worse 
To the letter 
This day- 
No telling 
All I 

Have to say 
Of his eye, 
Of his face. 
Of his play 
And place 
Among stars. 
Of his run 



Know Thy Horse 67T 



Between bars 
Like the sun 
About Mars — 
Zounds, for a horse 
What a horse! 
What for fins 
At his feet, 
What for shins 
That are fleet — 
What for power 
To cut loose 
For an hour 
Like a moose — 
Proper kind ; 
A new tail 
On behind, 
Goes, of course, 
At the sale 
With the horse — 
Mark the bow 
Of his neck, 
Mark the glow 
Not a rein 
Could restrain 
Nor a check — 
Driven 
By men, 
Given 
By men 
To know 
When to stop. 
When to go, 
How to prop, 
How to show. 



672 Know Thy Horse 



So now 
And you meet 
A new lass 
In the street 
He will bow, 
He will stop 
Ere he pass — 
And you take 
Her to ride 
He will walk 
For your sake, 
And, beside, 
He will balk 
To start slow 
As thought 
Out of dough — 
All a steed 
For all need. 
All agreed 
He 's a mood 
That he could. 
If he would. 
Write and read — 
All the brain 
Of a man 
On your sky- 
Lighted plan 
To succeed — 
So to buy 
To win is, 
And suffice 
It to say 
That the price 
You 're to pay, 



Know Thy Horse 673 

Forty guineas, 
Would not slate 
Half the rate 
Of his pate, 
Of his gait!!! 

Now Prime Rastus builded better than he knew. 
Since Bosom and his wife, taking heed 
How what he wrote was "certain true," 
How Strutty was much indeed. 
Lofty toppy, noble breed, 

Came to conclusion, the more of it they read. 
If Strutty were such a horse as now 
They knew from what Prime Rastus said, 
To keep him — so took a vow 
Not to sell him anyhow ! 



LEO AND ELFINELLA 

Says Leo, I have my lick at life; 

There are my cottage and pretty wife 

And trinkets to pay for my day of strife. 

The world I take as it comes ! 

Each keen wind that troubles and drums 
I whip into gold by my soul of thumbs. 

I pluck the juice of the stars, 

To find life only one painted farce, 

So what of this withered hide of scars? 

What if I die in a day, 

And they have taken my world away, 

I 've had my lick at it, play and say! 

What if I never know 

Whether the truth be this or no 

That life means only a touch and go, 

So that I feast an hour. 

Play honey-fly in mountain bower 

To get my share of the world in flower 

To pack my gut, flutter, 

Noise abroad by my conch of clutter, 
Content to bubble above my gutter, 
674 



Leo and Elfinella 675 

So that I get my fling, 

So that I let the cymbals ring, 

So I make merry and most of the thing? 

Elfinella 

Another day is in branch, 

My day too, 
Another day to redden and blanche 

And polish blue, 
A day for me as well as for you. 

Not born am I, and as yet 

I am not 
What you may coddle or man may get 

Or men have sought 
More than the elfin they know of not. 

I am to get my life, 

Like as you. 
Get my feast of sun and crop of strife 

To be, to do. 
To come to power by the God's way too. 

Yet am I to be born, 

As were you. 
To take up my pathway on and on 

Your blood-life through 
To grow my spirit and mould it too 

To nobler purpose beyond 

What I find 
Where you are put in training and bond 

To widen to more spirit and mind 
Than your pot-bush world you leave behind. 



676 Leo and Elfinella 

Once on a time we met, 

I and you, 
So we are not to forever forget. 

For soul is eternal and therefore true, 
And we shall be one yet, I and you. 

You have forgotten me, 

And because 
You in your world forget to see 

What went before you that ever was. 
You that are smothered in rump and jaws. 

Together were we ago, 

You and I ; 
We loved and promised and tried to know 

If love meant only to pass us by. 
If life meant only to squint and die. 

You had your way of thought. 

Which was this. 
That life is only gut to be got. 

Struggle only a thing to miss, 
And death an end with an emphasis. 

You thought to make most 

Of the thing 
By making a point of rabbit-roast 

And fribble or mouthy muttering 
Against truth, against power of soul 
To compass lastly the lasting whole. 

I took another thought. 

Which was this, 
That life is more than life to be got — 

More than the life that is 
Is soul, and the only emphasis. 



Leo and Elfinella 677 

So were we parted then 

In that time 
Of another world of different men, 

Men meant to cHmb 
To what is evermore more sublime. 

That way I lost you then, 

That you see! 
Yet what is lost shall be found again 

In eternity. 
All place in place for you and me. 

So shall you struggle on. 

This I know. 
While I, too, am to be corporate-born 

To take the likewise-way you go 
To grow me greater some way, so 

I may yet come to you. 

Like as you 
May come to me by the same way too 

Of Beautifulness which is Power 
Beyond toe-reach or potato-flower. 

Not all in one life is done ; 

More is for me 
Than chinch or plum-life under the sun; 

More upon more is to be 
Since I hold a universe in fee. 

Leo 

You, so, are not yet bom 

Whom I seek for to dote upon. 

And may not be before I am gone! 



678 Leo and Elfinella 

Elfinella. 

'Round in the worlds of space, 

/ You may know, 
Abundance there is of time and place 

For men to be born again and go 
And be born again forever so. 

Leo 

Ah, but to what end 

Do I knit together and unbend 

And gain my purpose and lose my friend? 

Elfinella 

Beauty is lastly truth 

To each dot, 
Is beyond the pink lax lip of youth. 

And that, too, whether or not 
I look to youth for each Beauty spot. 

So is the thing I seek 

Not what I grew, 
Chalk in an alabaster cheek, 

Eyes of hyacinthine blue. 
But Beauty which comes of being true. 

I shall be bom again 

Into mind, 
Not to capture the gains of men 

They plough to and leave heart behind. 
But Beauty which comes of being kind. 

Your world I shall come to know, 
Right and wrong, 



Leo and Elfinella 679 

Not for the feast of it or show 

Of goldflower or silver song, 
But Beauty which comes of being strong. 

Worlds are many, while so, 

You shall see, 
I and you are to come and go 

Many rough ways of eternity 
Ere I reach to you and you reach to me. 

Leo 

Close draws my day to an end! 

If I am ever to have you, my friend 

I love so, small matter what toil to that end. 

True, in my life I have done 

Most my worst as the foot-fields run, 
So I 'm to finish where I begun. 

Yet is my love of you 

Come to last as the days stay blue. 
And I 'm to begin life over new. 

What if that hour you are bom 

Shall find me withered, or past and gone, 
There are you always to follow on ! 

Love could not breathe to cheat, 

All things are bound to be complete, 
Nothing is broken or obsolete. 

Now do I see you clear 

Out in your finer atmosphere 

Than blues or yellows an atom here. 



68o Leo and Elfinella 

There are you now in keep 

Of a new cloud and livelier sweep 

Of leven than any brain could reap! 

About you your new light speaks 

Of power beyond the pigment of cheeks. 
And not a pottle of moonlight leaks. 

About you comes each new form 

More perfect than what it parted from, 

As worlds float out of their melted storm. 

About you the new throat rings, 

Tambourine-birds in unspeakable wings, 
And Beauty is just the spirit of things. 

Why shall you seek to come 

To earth again where hearts are numb 

Till men would cudgel each other dumb? 

Elfinella 

I am the spirit of the wind ! 

Once it was 
I played at loss, for I tricked and sinned 

In that I tried to unmaster laws 
To dodge each effort of kinging cause, 

So now am I dropped behind 

To try again, 
Take my new turn of body and mind 

To come to power out of joy and pain 
Above any world or its way of gain. 



Leo and Elfinella 68i 

First, there 's to learn to love 

What is true 
For love of it, just love is enough, 

Never for any profit to you, 
As I shall learn to love to be true. 

There are ways to be great 

I shall take. 
Such as wrong I strike to subjugate, 

And I put this breath of life at stake 
For Truth and the good I think and make. 

So is my way of life 

Through an earth 
Conquest by way of mammoth strife 

By which I come to vaster worth 
Of purpose, come to nobler birth. 

For you the like life too. 

You to go 
To what is beautifullest true 

And mighty, as the Gemini show 
Magnitude by their sweep of glow. 

Be you in your world, 

I in mine. 
Be we this way or that way hurled, 

One unique purpose is twice divine, 
I to be yours yet, you to be mine. 

Many worlds, many lives 

To and fro. 
While everything dies and survives 

As men come and go, 
And I am more than the thing I know. 



682 Leo and Elfinella 

Once were we forced asunder, 

I and you, 
By just our one pitiless blunder! 

There 's only to be and do, 
And no escape for me or you 

But to perform one part 

Down to death, 
Nobility of soul and heart, 

Such Beautifulness as draws a breath 
Beyond what reason reasoneth. 

Here is a new pure light 

Encircles me. 
Bridles and baffles so my sight 

I have no power in me to see, 
Such is the power of purity ! 

A new music is about, 

So rare and free 
As to put all harmony to rout, 

As beckons, yet so puzzles me 
That am not shapen to get the glee 

In such prelude. My other sun, 

Beyond sky 
I know could never have been begun, 

Never was ordained to die 
Or flourish nothing, more than I. 

I find me out of place, 

Much as a brill, 
Once out of water, coils at space. 

Snatches to try to get his fill 
Of the wanton air, and then is still. 



Leo and Elfinella 683 

Leo. 

You are out of life, the while 

I am in it to sorrow and smile 

And gain by an inch and miss by a mile. 

Elfinella 

You are in it to make most 

Of such power 
As comes of breathless immortal ghost 

I see hiding behind an hour 
To ripen in any hazel-flower. 

You are in it to make hold 

Of such power 
To play the man to an outer cold, 

Nor count the sweet of it or sour, 
So you come to your kingdom — Power. 

All men are immortal, 

Yet not all 
Stand equi-great, equi-small, 

But one is under, another is tall 
As moonlight, another is kneeling doll. 

For each is time in store, 

Each to snatch 
His turn at the wheel, and more and more 

Of sublimity to catch 
For love of it and to match his match. 

Pretty ways are these 

Through the sky 



684 Leo and Elfinella 

Our worlds take, eagles in a breeze — 

They know only their way to fly 
Uppermost always where thought is high — 

Your way to me, mine to you, 

Nor counts this space 
Or time for anything which is true 

Of spirit or the hiding-place 
Of Beauty which looks without a face. 

Love lasts — 't is a trick 

Of soul, 
Finer than any prairie- quick, 

Vaster than what puts the roll 
Of planets to their plump control. 

I last, you last to change 

Into shape 
Of other more majestic range 

Of purpose than calculating ape 
Proud of his flounce and knotted nape. 

Since we are meant to last 

Above weather. 
Since love is not a thing of the past 

To perish as a nub of heather. 
Truly one day we shall come together. 

By what world, what life, what way 

We may meet 
Goes not for me in my hour to say, 

Save that this thought of mine is sweet, 
That the soul of things is at last complete. 



Leo and Elfinella 685 

Death gives a new kind of thought, 

For it saith : 
" I am what I appear to be not, 

I am life the while, while Death 
Is only the new other brilliant breath." 



THINKING OF EUNICE 



Squash-flower is in blow, 

Hops are in bell, 
Blackthorn promises sloe, 

King-fly is in his cotton cell 
When I take my way across meadow 

In between oak and apple-shadow 
To where Emiice is, just over the hill — 

I shall find her there at her window-sill ! 

First through the woods I go; 

Comes then the long hill-top; 
Floats the factory-pond below ; 

Beyond stands the stocking-shop, 
While next in one small side-hill 

Her cottage is — how well I know 
She will be there at her window-sill 

Among her flowers and of them so! 

Here am I at the pond; 

This is her slight canoe; 
We were there beyond, 

Just the other day too. 
To pull those lilies in long grass, 

Watch the ox-eyed heaven pass. 
Get a whiff of this generous air 

Bringing us sweetness from everywhere. 
686 



Thinking of Eunice 687 

Now am I at her gate; 

Here lies her gravel path ; 
Here, too, I hesitate 

For the fineness which it hath, 
So like her — do I fear 

May be she may not be here, 
Or do I stop at a thought to stir 

For so much pleasure at finding her? 

This is her cider-tree; 

She set it out in June; 
Hark what rounded melody 

Drops from her new festoon 
Of grape where it hangs between 

Peach-bush and window-screen 
Now the hornblower trumpets such sweetness 

Life looks blossom and all completeness ! 

Yonder her settle of oak ! 

It seems but a day ago 
Her mellow bluestart broke 

Into such rapture so 
Under the moon where we sat 

To listen to his chime and chat, 
We forgot, between moon and campion 

And song-shout, that any night was on. 

This is her plot of holly-rose; 

Once she pulled the flower for me : 
"So life comes and goes. 

But Beauty stays unendingly," 
She said, and gave me the flower. 

Much as to say. Beauty is Power, 
Nothing of it is dropped by the way, 

Soul is Beauty and come to stay. 



688 Thinking of Eunice 

How I remember one night ! 

Each star was hung in view 
Up in no end of height, 

Down in the mill-pond too 
To say: Only shadow is there 

In your shallow world, nor inch to spare; 
Only up here in eternal far 

You discover your real star. 

What thought was ours, who shall say? 

We would watch shadows skip, 
Leaves slap each other, then lip to lip 

Almost in our human way ! 
We were that cheek to cheek 

As lily-pad and lily-creek; 
We were that much wholly one 

As yonder solid single sun. 

"Could you put me away 

Out of your thought an hour 
As moonbeams play 

With this clary flower? 
Moonbeams pretend to be the sun, 

Bear his light and gonfalon 
Only to give warm looks, the same 

As this feverfew— there springs no flame ?"- 

She would ask. All her trust 

Was mine in spite of doubt; 
Love rules because it must, 

Drives each cavilment out. 
I was come just to show her plain 

Love has only love to gain. 
Which she could so perfectly understand 

Now I held her heart and her pretty hand. 



Thinking of Eunice 689 

Ripe inula stood in place 

And yellow and just as bright 
As the moon's new yellow face 

Which kept us so in sight 
I reached and I got the flower there, 

Tucked it her way in her gentle hair 
Just between temple and brow — 

I wonder if she keeps it now ! 

This is her cottage-door; 

How her lattice- vine is grown 
So large as never before; 

How her orange-bush has blown 
So it lops the path in two 

As if to say I shall not go through, 
And I hark, and her shrike is still — 

She is not there at her window-sill ! 

Grasses shoot up between 

The chinks in her garden- walk; 
Gone is her garden's elegant mien, 

Pea-tree and its pretty balk ; 
Gone is the ring of the whippoorwill — 

She is no more at her window-sill ! 
Among her flowers there waits for me 

Only the spot where she used to be. 



Something in life I miss 

As the fine days come and go ; 
Something in life there is 

Follows close to me so 



690 Thinking of Eunice 



I look while I know I see 

Life means never loss to me, 
But more to me than I am, 

And nothing is shuck just, or tricky sham. 

Down in my heart I keep 

The very thing I miss! 
There 's a thought to reap 

To wonder what it is 
Which I have which I have not ! 

Is there more of life to be got 
Than soul which is true and free 

And full of the genuineness of me? 

My Eunice is gone away, 

So many years ago. 
While I am back this day 

To where her papilio 
Ducked in primrose, where her pipit 

Hugged his song, would not lip it 
Nor give up a note of it until 

She stood there at her window-sill. 

So fast in my soul she is, 

Yet is she gone away ! 
What is it, then, which I miss 

This very sun-above day 
I had her here years ago 

Among her doves and cinnamon-show? 
What is it now which I miss 

If I have her so in my heart like this? 

Is it her tiny hand? 

What were that one whit more 



Thinking of Eunice 691 

Than this Tyrolese band 

At her throat she wore 
And I have now? She gave it nie 

For something I could touch and see 
Which was hers — there too was her hand 

I could touch and see — you understand ! 

This was her paper fan 

Which wrinkles and has a breath 
And a certain span 

And a certain death; 
Baffles the same wind too 

She baffled and blew and drew — 
A palm and fingers and pitapat ! 

What counts the small hand more than that? 

This is her lily-patch, 

White lilies on a stem 
Which only her hand could match, 

Could match the best of them, 
Could open the same way wide, 

Show the same red heart inside. 
So she gave me her hand this hour 

I hold its image — her mountain flower ! 

Why shall I think her gone 

Because I do not see 
Her step across this lawn, 

Her hand in her white guava tree? 
Have I no more to follow in her 

Than foot-flight or muckender? 
Or do I not have her by me near 

Now her spring and her birds are here? 



692 Thinking of Eunice 

There in her seckel tree 

Her veery fines his song 
To lift it high for me 

As heaven from his topmost-prong, 
Her song which he caught from her 

Right as April began to stir; 
And now a new April is in ken, 

Lo, her voice — I have it again! 

This her apricot-bush 

Keeps the grace of her play 
And her pretty hush 

And her toss and sway 
Of elegance to the purple top 

She gave it by her scallop and chop, 
While there and just out of reach 

Is her pink in the cheek of the peach. 

Yonder the fine clean sky 

Made of such perfect blue 
And I have her heavenward eye 

To look to me deep and so true 
As one round blue vault of lofty skies 

Planted its image in her eyes, 
Her look of the planeted sky, 

True always and ever most high. 

So I have her this far. 

So I keep her in sight 
As I get the pink of a star 

Clean through my prop of night, 
For here are her cheek and ivory hand 

Each year in her japonica land, 
So comes it that I have her still 

'Though she be no more at her window-sill. 



Thinking of Eunice 693 

See, I pick this flower, 

I hide it in my breast away; 
Each moon that passes and each hour 

Give it just that much more to say 
To clinch this truth: Nothing is 

My best which I was meant to miss — 
'Tis so I clasp her, I have her still, 

'Though she be no more at her window-sill ! 



TO A STREET MINSTREL 

Ahoy 
To our tambourine-boy 
Of the street! 
Ahoy to his click, 
To the trick 
Of his feet, 
To the sweep of his head 
For a chance 
To win his bread 
By the spank of the dance ! 
Ahoy to him there where he leaps 
In his street-rubbish heaps! 

All 's well 
In his mix of pell-mell ! 
Look you too 
To the big soul-size 
Of his eyes 
Through and blue! 
Here 's a luck to his art 
For a way 
He flings his heart 
In his tambourine-play. 
His soul through his chirrup of song- 
All health to his gong I 
694 



To a Street Minstrel 695 

Hoorah 
To my cobble-stone star 
In his rags! 
Hoorah to his clink 
At the brink 
Of the flags, 
To his castanet-song 
To a pitch 

And the note is strong 
As the soul is rich — 
Long luck to his jacket of shags, 
Star-spangled rags ! 

All hail 
To the face tnin and pale! 
Have a care 
Of the small white hand 
Of command 
Which is there. 
Of his tunic of holes 
And his luck 
To capture souls 
By his mountain of pluck 
Which wins and has spirit to spare — 
God's luck to him there! 



Hark sharp 
To each spring of his harp ! 
Clap an ear 
To the symphan-phase 
Of his lays 
True and clear 
As they ripen to rob, 



696 To a Street Minstrel 

By a note, 
The storm of its mob 

Like a robin's throat — 
To my curbstone king of the year 
On his chorus-career ! 

Look there 
To his bundle of care 
Which is part 
Of his soul and hand 
By command 
Of his heart 
Not to quit nor to flinch 

By a breath, 
Nor yield an inch 
To the snarling of death 
Where he drums and masters his art 
And bugles his heart! 

To-night 
He is plain in your sight ; 
To-morrow 
He 's back in the earth 
Of his birth 
And your sorrow, 
To shout no more ahoy 
To his June, 
Nor jump for joy 
To his street-corner tune; 
Look you alive — who shall borrow 
Breath of to-morrow? 

Look alive, 
*T is divinest to strive ! 



To a Street Minstrel 697 

Look again 
How his star will shine 

For divine 

Among men! 
To his tambourine-bells 

And they ring • 

How life foretells 
He is bom to be king 
By his bell and wing, like the wren, 
High lines above men ! 



DON DUN 

BoNNYCLABBER glum-sighted Don Dun 

Was his cut, 
Was his name he had, so that but 
For the little he had done 
Since his breath begun, 
I might have thought him wisdom-freighted, 

Talent-pated 

To mark him waddle up his street, 

Heel and toe. 
Like as if God made him so 
The gist of him should be feet, 
He to stump and reel about. 
Fling his ultra superb pout 

The town about. 

Don Dun, for need of soul, married; 

I would say- 
Better of him had he tarried 
To let one good woman take her way 
And time to choose another. 
Get her the one lord-hearted brother 

One lucky day. 

Knew he better, did Don Dun, 
Had his whim 
698 



Don Dun 699 

There was not good enough for him 
In petticoat under the sun — 
Was he not Don Dun? 
Was there the i-dot more to be said 
From A to Zed? 

To himself he could be good, this Dun ! 

She, the wife, 
Should help him coddle his value-life, 
They two to be one, 
Whilst that one, be it understood. 
Should be Dun-royal, only Dun, 

All for her good! 

Made are women to be trained, 

So he said; 
Are all heart, little head, 
While men go monsterly brained 
To vast purpose, to bring good 
Out of evil — that he coiild, 

That he would. 

Now, then, to trim her, 

See her wince. 
Teach her putty-lip, he for Prince 
To hold her to her primer, 
She to learn his kingful mood. 
Knuckle under, sneeze subdued, 

All for her good. 

His way, just his way, was right; 

That he knew 
By the owl in him and cockatoo 
And doubtlessness of a cenobite. 



700 Don Dun 

Since God made him to rule her, 
To quash, rob, please, and fool her 
Like a schooler. 

She must poke the meek ankle-gait, 

Learn to stalk 
Sidewise, just the nobody -walk 
To put him, by contrast, great — 
Were they not both together one, 
One mightiness under the sun, 

Which was Dun? 

What mattered it how she thought, 

So he knew 
The speck part of a thing or two. 
Knew this was that, that was not? 
Was he not tuned to squeak 
For edification of the weak 

From chop to cheek? 

So was it at last he had her, 

By such trick. 
Meek as rung-rods in a ladder, 
Self-thoughted as his walking-stick 
To take him softly by the hand, 
To harken leaf -like to his command, 

Look happy-bland. 

Now comes the tug — now came a day 

In his life 
He needed the proof-perfect wife 
For what she could do or say 
To nerve him to fight his cause. 
Perchance to save him from mighty loss, 

Lighten his cross. 



Don Dun 701 

Looked he for her there and then, 

Now he was weak 
In his mastiff -clinch among men, 
Bade her not sigh to him, but speak, 
Play woman, be his bower, 
Muster soul for him and power 
That same hour. 

Nor saw how this truth is grown: 

Man shall reap 
Only what he has sown ; 
Even the wife of his bosom-keep 
Was just as he arrayed her. 
Stopped where he stayed her, 

Small as he made her! 

What more is for her to do 

Or be 
Than just what he once moulded her to? 
Look to see if you can see 
How, among all lofty things, 
A chat may soar if you choke his glee, 

Chop his wings! 



POLLY MAN AND FOLLY GIRL 

Snub-eye, that 's snob-eye, 

The weevil-walk in white pants, 

Any color-colored dye 

To paint his vest of circumstance 

So men should haul up, right about nose 

With: There 's the Mighty, there he goes! 

Did his shirt-front look too white, 

'T was his Pollux-look of light ! 
Did he part his hair in twain, 

He found his true meridian! 
No end of polish, shoe and shoe, 

Only to outglisten you! 

Spit-bug — such an artistic spit; 

Hopper-dog — the Prince's hop 
He copied, and the joke of it, 

He got going and could n't stop, 
While take him in his tints and squints 

And men would say — There goes the Prince! 

Two hours at his table-glass 

He will let the ribbons play 
Between his fingers just to class 

The knot he ties with what they say 
Was Duckington's the night he toed 

His great cotillon — how he glowed 
702 



Polly Man and Folly Girl 703 

In velure, half tin-tinted, 

Clapped a window to one eye 
Through which he snapped and squinted 

Just to mount to majesty 
Of cold look — so the cold soul has 

Its match and fellow — glass to glass ! ~ 

Ball Night now is on; 

He shall make his trotters show 
How like feathers they can go 

Now there 's kicking to be done, 
Fan-flaps in the dancing air 

All to pin his prettiness there. 

Miladyness the opposite side 

Ducks her face behind her fan 
Like the linnet tries to hide 

Once she sees her rifleman 
Taking aim — there goes the shot 

And she must dodge to save her lot! 

Next is the lofty dance, 

Duckington's cotillon next, 
Such augmented circumstance 

There is ample-full pretext 
To ask her to skirt the dance 

With him in his omnipotence. 

Take him for the collar-lop, 

Twenty buttons made of gold, 
Pasted hair, and such a crop 

Of colors if he caprioled. 
And how should a wise girl miss 

Such sweep of monarchy as was his? 



704 Polly Man and Folly Girl 

Milady — she will like to see 

How the floor below her slips, 

To reach to such sublimity 

As glistens at his finger-tips 

Only to join his caracole 

To see the pin wheel in his soul! 

So she yields, breath-expectant, 

He lord pompous and amplectant 

The while they swing and swish 
Elbow-bowed and willowish 

About the lamps, like as the moth 
Bobbles in his cedar cloth. 

She is thinking of her fan : 
Might it open for a wing 

To lift her into flickering 

Above her yellow-button man 

Where she could perch away 

Out of reach of his puppy-play ! 

He is thinking of her for wife; 

He is sure to tell her so ; 
He has need of her for life, 

Never mind the why or no ! 
She will suit his table-style, 

Furnish him with plump and smile 

Such as youngness in the cheek — 
She for somewhat he may take 

To nibble, like an Easter cake. 

And so he takes his chance to speak, 

To talk to her of life and love 
And all his pretty other stuff. 



Polly Man and Folly Girl 705 

But hark — there 's the linnet's voice ! 

Look too — there 's the linnet's eye 
Sighted to make her perfect choice, 

Levelled to see the reason why, 
All as her moon-flower would have done 

To dodge the cloud, to lodge the sun. 

"True," she said, "you know to dance. 

Eagle's wings to you for feet, 
You have button-circumstance. 

Have collar — your claim complete! 
What for such back of elegant prop, 

All the duds of a custom-shop ! 

"Look you do by an eye of glass, 

Spirit such as the window has; 
Tied is your throat to a golden string 

As if your bow-knot tied a king ; 
What for whiskering and the rest ! 

What map of majesty in a vest ! 

"Say me one thing you have done 
More than take your bite of sun 

Or snooze in your daily shade. 
Pick your lick of marmalade, 

Run your two eyes through a gem. 
Show your teeth for diadem! 

"Yet you are, as the world says, nice, 
' Wear beautiful hands, you have eyes 

Bright as a Bird of Paradise, 

Beside which, over and above, 
I know how soldierly you could love — 
There 's this life to the point enough! 



7o6 Polly Man and Folly Girl 

"So let us up to the dance, 

Nor thought of this purpose-world 

Of soul or sober circumstance, 

Enough if we be jounced and whirled 

Into joy — there 's a thing to do — 

So on with the dance — I '11 marry you!' 



CAMPO SANTO 

Lay me in some lavender spot 

After I am gone; 
My bush-chat will forget me not, 

He will dance about his lawn 
To try to have me hear him again 

When he makes his hop and run 
Under the sun, 

When he tumbles his great refrain 
In the tumbling rain. 

Put me by my purple river 

Where I drank 
Among the bubbles, where crowfoots quiver 

On the bank, 
That I may lie forevermore 

Where I lay before, 
Boy there on the laughing shore, 

That I may lie there like my river 
Which is gone, yet is there forever. 

Did you once think I am not to hear 

After that. 
Nevermore to get the clear 

Ripe tri-rune of my chat. 
Know never what is going on 
707 



7o8 Campo Santo 

Across m}^ lawn, 
Stoop not once more to pluck 

Tree-moss, strike for luck 
At life again because I am struck? 

Am I to be downed 

By any rising sun? 
Am I no nobler than this ground 

To lie there, to keep to one run 
About the sun, 

And this my spirit but just begun 
To be more than I can see. 

Never the mock of eternity, 
All things but only part of me? 

Look you to this chrysoprase 

I have in hand 
Only for the power it has 

To throw one band 
Of duck-wing or prairie-green 

Across my screen 
So the true colors may be seen 

To be no part of my gem 
Which only moulded and golded them ! 

Shall not my spirit take shape 

From rib and nape, 
Learn of the whisper of my sigh 

How to long, how to fly, 
Take wing on the last low breath 

Beyond any death. 
Quite as the dog-star flings his stripe 

Of citron of eternal type 
Beyond all clouds the eagles wipe? 



Campo Santo 709 

Put me by my hornbeam tree 
With its wings 

Which will dip the dew to me 
' Right as the wood-lark sings 

Under his kingdom of the moon 
' Between these arabis flowers of June 

To see how I will be there 
' To claim my share 

With all my love of the narded air. 

Lay me among the grasses 

When moonlight passes 
Just where the chinkapin props 

Its thistle-finch through the dark 
While he flutes and stops 

And I will hark 
In my comer of his park. 

Count I not for more worth 
Than conquests of an earth? 

Grow a flower or two for me 

Below my belamy tree; 
I. will come to see, 

Will hover there to gaze 
As in other days, 

To put such value on your thought 
Which forgot me not — 

Be so sure I shall see 
You only grew them there for me. 

Lay me among cassidony 

And hops and honey 
And briony 

And peony 



7IO Campo Santo 

Where they climb and thrive — 

Is not everything aHve? 
Could anything be dead 

In no underneath and no overhead 
And no end of things to be thought of or said? 

Bring no ululu, 

Nor bring any thought that I am gone: 
Soul shall be true to you, 

Shall let you pass on and on 
For having led you to think 

There 's no collapse nor pit-hole brink 
Where no underneath is, no overhead. 

And so no stopping-place for the dead 
When the truth of things is heralded. 

Out of another land 

I shall hold your hand 
To lead you between cloud-flowers blue 

One day to come there too! 
Think me never so far away 

But I 'm to be one with you 
As love loves and truth is true, 

Always all human through and through. 



IN AN INN 

And now, my lady, a word with you. 

Since we are parted 
And I 'm to put you out of view, 

We to leave off where we started. 
Each to follow a new other clue. 

And I 'm to be nothing more to you 



Let me this way begin 

My word to you, now you are gone, 
And I am free to speak freely on: 

I met you at an inn 
Where were thump and boisterousness, 

Pop-thought or all thoughtlessness, 
Hearts cold and sharp as a flounder's fin. 



Just at noon it was, 

You were on the porch, 
You were there, thought I, because 

The sun had a nip and scorch, 
And you built a nest in the shade 

One eagle- wood tree had made. 
So to teach the tall skies 

To keep their distance — you were wise, 
711 



712 In an Inn 

But — why teach me the like trick too? 

Was it that you thought I would love 
As the sun does, more than enough 

To kindle your coolish heart in you? 
Or, since you saw I must be true 

As Gods are, give my soul to you, 
Did you think you could play and wait 

As the child does, I your doll for mate? 

I would not tickle you by talk 

Flies make when they sting and hawk, 
Nor fold me double to make my bow 

Trunkily, as men do now, 
Let each quill-weed show me how; 

Nor puff up would I to slip and prance 
Like squat-fellows at their doodle-dance. 

Nor bunch with the rest the same 
As likes in a hill, play potato-game, 

So, did you think, I would not do 
For mate or for match with you? 

Know one thing in the world — this : 
More shall a man be, be as he is 

As God made him, let him hit or miss. 
Than he take his cue or his hair 

Or pantaloon-loop from that man there 
Of the black waist and same taste 

As every man everyhow everywhere. 

Or there was your man to growl, 

Brute lip, surly scowl, 
Power in him to stand pat 

Just by his cheap ugly chat 



In an Inn 713 

And masterdom — you knew 

He was dog and drunken too, 
Yet he held the mooning eyes of you 

Like the pit-viper coils askew 
To hold his young tree-bird still and true — 

Your gentleman-rough in his lynxy fit! 
Once I saw him slam and spit 

And ruffle, and you puff -proud of it ! 



Know one thing in the world — this : 

There goes no power like gentleness, 
Power which is high and kind, 

Always heart-foremost inclined, 
And wins out. Never you thought 

How your rougti gentleman tricked and wrought, 
If only you could hear him speak — 

Oh, how you played passing weak 
Leaning there snug to his drunken cheek! 



Or was I above your years, 

As old again? 
Am I therefore in arrears 

With other men? 
Is it not enough 

That I can love? 
Or am I to lose my mate 

For being late, 
And I know nothing is lost 

'Though all my purpose of life be crossed? 



Is love a thing of youth, 

Of steel eye, sword tooth, 



714 In an Inn 

Of blood-rush, sorghum lip 

Meant to get the lush and drip, 

Let the sweet August go 

For rubbish or stub-undertoe? 



Love is a heart to endure, 

Is the one thing sure 
Above needle-eye life, sees 

Tingling lip is a trick to please 
Only tingling lip 

Which tries to give the soul the sHp, 
While one day the lip is gone. 

But never this heart it hung upon — 
So know one thing in the world — this : 

Love looks for love, truth of it is, 
Comes to stay and claim — which is why 

I '11 have you, my lady, by and by. 

Stick you to your man, 

To his bumper-cheek; 
He will not block your plan, 

He will prove less than man; 
He will not rise to speak 

To deal you thought, but only to command 
By his prison-hand. 

While you will look up to love, 
Count the brute in him man enough. 



Pretty birds whistle. 

Velvet dangles in each thistle, 
Your white rock trunks at the beach 

Half out of reach. 



In an Inn 7^5 

Sky-hawk levels his telescope-eye 

Where the pin-fish fly 
Like shooting stars among waves — 

How they grow in their graves ! 

I wander about this lawn 

You leaped upon, 
Where you stooped to pick 

Thorn-flowers or lily-stick, 
While even now as I pass, 

Lo, your footprints in the grass 
As if for sign to me so true 

To pluck up heart and follow you. 

In spite of all I have said, 

Which you will have read, 
My jealousy and hungry love 

And palpitating head, 
I have this, evermore, to say, 

My word to you be pledge enough: 
You took my heart with you away, 

You left me nought for it behind, 
Yet, think my strongest as I may, 

I cannot put you out of mind ; 
So I take your lead, I go your way, 

I gather these flowers in your lawn. 
Grass-pink, rose-campion, 

I learn the song of your wren, 
The one he meant for you then — 

I bring them all three to you, 
Song and flowers and my heart too, 

And sure as like has like to pay, 
I '11 have you, my lady, one fine day! 



ATHANASIA 

As out of the white sky 
Into the blue air 
Everyhow 
Everywhere 
Beauty is there 
Never to die, 
So I see now 
How somehow, 
Somewhere 
My Rosalie is there 
In the white blue air. 

As out of the dead moon 

Is eternal June, 

Yellow field. 

Mellow yield 

Of Beauty so 

Of orange glow, 

So is this clear: 

Beauty is near, 
Is plain, 
As there in the rare domain 
I see my Rosalie again. 

Life is in the rough. 
Is cough and cuff, 



Athanasia 717 

Yet just around 

In sky and ground 

Is Beauty spread 

Which survives 

Loves and lives 

And dead — 
Out in Orion-air 
All the wild worlds are fair 
To him who is not of them there. 

Power comes and goes, 
Changes teeth and toes, 

While just about 
Are seen 

Roan and green 

And silver pout 

To weary never, 

Here forever — 
Sky riots to strike a blow 
Which paints the rainfall-bow 
All Beauty forever so. 

Endurance, hard duty, 
Power first, then Beauty: 

First is the shock 

Of fire and rock ; 

Then is the thud 

Of silver rain ] 

Against the mud, 
And then 

The violet again 
For supersensuous fair. 
Like my Rosalie in the white blue air. 



7i8 Athanasia 

Am I not for more 
Than the God-gifted shore 
Of all the stars 
From Pictor to Mars, 
More than sand 
Or a headlight 
Of land, 
Since now I see 
What makes in me 
For Beauty like as out there 
In the white blue air 

To stay and stand 
When sea and land 

Are gone? 
Now is night, 
Now is morn, 
Ebony night, 
Lemon dawn. 

And she. 
My Rosalie, 
Soul-fashioned, zenith-fair 
In the white blue air. 



PLUCK-LUCK 

Do your best, 
Never mind God 
Or Hell and the rest! 
A wink and nod 
Of an angle-rod 
Make as much, 
Their way, 
As a God could play, 
As a star 
Over far 

Could sight or touch, 
Just as much. 

This I knew 
Well as you 
For a law 
Among men 
Worth fighting for, 
As when 
One day I stood 
In the underwood 
By my pasture-trees, 
Queried a thought 
If love were not 
Just a will to please, 
719 



720 Pluck-Luck 

A thing to do, 

A word to say, 

If false or true. 

To make my way 

To her heart — 

As the world would say, 

By a lover's art— 

As if I must dare 

To win the race 

And my brother there 

Of the handsome face, 

The conquering air. 

Should I lie 
Or whisper truth, 
Take her by a sigh 
Or by my youth 
Of honest dealing. 
No trick nor stealing? 
Enough said — 
I fashioned 
Truth is passioned 
White and red, 
Has a lip and shin. 
Is sure to win. 

The moon was set 
Like an orange eye 
For an amulet 
In one purple sky, 
While 'round it 
Danced a dozen stars 
Glad as a Lars 



Pluck-Luck 721 

That they had found it. 

My way I took 

To her gate, 

A path that lay 

By our otter-brook — 

The hour was late 

Now first I saw 

My rival mate 

In her corridor 

Of garden- vetch, 

Saw him straight and stretch 

Like a chancellor, 

Saw him go 

As he took 

His long look 

At her so 

From the brook 

One would think 

He held his breath 

To outwit death 

At the brink 

Of despair 

To leave her there 

For me if I 'came 

With my aftergame, 

And she so fair 

He rather would lose 

All his soul could choose 

Than leave her there 

As I came. 

New night 
Overhead, 



46 



722 Pluck-Luck 

Gold and red, 
Like the flight 
Of a flame, 
And she just there 
In her garden-chair 
Of archangel flowers 
Under poppy bowers 
To wait, 
Long and late, 

Til I came! 
And I knew 
That my claim 
Was as true 
As was his, 
'Though I miss 
What he had. 
The look of a lad. 
The mould of a man 
On your model-plan 
To enrapture. 
To capture, 

So I said: 
She shall see 
There 's value in me 
More than red 
In the lip, 
More than head, 
More than hip, 
She shall know 
I can do 
What is true, 
Con or pro. 
Luck or no. 



Pluck-Luck 723 

Could I share 
Just the air 
That lay at her lip, 
Just a sip 
Ere I spoke, 
I should pipe 
As the wren 
At his reed again 
When he woke, 
Til she heard, 
Til she drank 
Every word. 

Through nep 
Light of step 
Was my way 
To the flowers 
Where she lay 
In her bowers — 
Like a bee 
I was there 
On the wing 
Just to see 
And to sing 
And to share 

Of the sweet 

New soul which was there 

At my feet: 

"I am not," 

So I said, 

"City thought, 

Fashion read; 

I am not 

Round of mould. 



724 Pluck-Luck 

Beauty wrought, 
Cloth of gold 
To behold, 

"With a grace 
Of the face, 
With a sigh 
For a lie, 
A run-about play 
Of the tongue 
For a way 
To look young. 
Pretty shape, 
Mighty charm 
To the arm 
And the nape. 

"Yet I 'm this, 
I am true 
Mighty love 
Deep as his 
And for you; 
Just above 
Are the stars, 
Just below 
Is a breath, 
And I know 
Truth jars 
Unto death ; 

"Yet I know 
I am true 
As a glow 
Of the dew: 



Pluck-Luck 725 

About and above 

Life is small 

Matched with my love 

Which is all, 

Which is you — 

My stars they are there, 

My heaven it is fair, 

Which is you. 

"Yet is he 
Above me 
In the straight 
Handsome play 
Of his gait, 
In the fain 
Wonder-way 
Of his brain. 
In the choice 
Velvet tune 
Of his voice 
New as June. 

"So his love, 
Which is true, 
Love of you, 
Is enough 

To bring me to this: 
I would not stay 
His hand for a day; 
What I gain or miss 
Is nothing to me — 
Soul hungers to be, 
To love 
For nothing above, 



726 Pluck-Luck 

"For nothing to gain, 
Only to do 
What is plain 
Highest true 
Just for you. 
Take him so ! 
Let me pass 
As a face 
In a glass 
Out of place — 
Better so 
That I go, 

"That I love 

And you know 

What it cost. 

What I lost 

In the game 

Which is love 

When it came 

To this end : 

I gave up 

A friend for a friend 

To save up 

My love to the end; 

"I gave him 
To you I 

To save him 

From loss; 

I bear the new 

Whole weight of my cross, 

Which I must, 

Which I trust. 



Pluck-Luck 727 

All for you. 
There 's the test, 
There 's the best 
Of me too. 

"Shall I not 
Make the most 
Of my lot, 
Play host 
And not guest. 
Do my most. 
Do my best, 
Nor complain 
Of my loss 
Nor refrain 
From my cross 
Or my chain? 

"Is the best 
I may do 
Not the blest 
Of me too? 
Is my first 
Highest thought 
To be curst. 
Counted worst. 
Counted nought, 
If the gain 
Of a gain 
Be not plain? 

"If I do 
What in me 
And for you. 
You '11 agree, 



728 Pluck-Luck 

Is all true, 
Is all kind, 
Is all great. 
Shall I mind 
Of my fate. 
Shall I fear 
Luck is late 
Loss is near?" 

Night was warm 
In its storm 
Of the stars ; 
Tulip-bars, 
Pimpernels, 
Little bells, 
Purple bells 
At her feet 
Darted out 
Wink and pout 
To entreat, 
Wild and sweet. 

There she lay- 
Just to prink 
Like a bee 
In a pink 
Full of play. 
Looked at me 
Half to see. 
Half to think, 
Then to say: 
"Not of him 
Had I thought 
With his trim 



Pluck-Luck 729 

"Look and prim, 
Handsome-wrought 
Mighty brow 
Of brain-play, 
Pretty bow, 
Happy way. 
Nor his youth — 
Rather truth. 
Rather strength, 
Rather strife 
Than mere length 
Of a life, 

"Than mere power 
To make rout, 
To win cut 
In an hour" — 
And right there 
Came her look 
Like a new 
Open book 
To me there, 
As so too 
Came her touch. 
No hand like it such 

For so fair, 
For so true 
As she drew 
Me her way. 
Looked me through 
Her sweet way, 
Bade me stay, 
Bade me take 



73P Pluck-Luck 



A pink rose 
For her sake — 
And right there 
In the fair 

Spotted night 
Was my rose 
Which I chose, 
Which I took 
In the bright 
Solemn look 
Of the skies, 
By the neap 
Solemn brook 
For that deep 
Solemn look 
In her eyes, 

For that soul 
And the whole 
Of her heart. 
And her lack 
Of an art. 
So I state. 
Looking back 
To that day. 
It will pay 
To be great, 
To be true, 
To be you, 

To do well. 
Do your best 
In the clod. 
As for God, 



Pluck-Luck 731 

As for Hell 
And the rest, 
Better you 
To be great, 
Make your fate, 
Better you 
To be true, 
Do your best. 



BRILLA 

There leans a book 

Over my shelf — 

Stop, have a look, 

The book is myself, 

For I wrote it and I know 

How the letters trip and go, 

How they followed my elbow-blow. 

There swings my tree 

Against the storm — 

I gave it knee 

And peak and form 

By my way I fashioned it 

From the root and single spit, 

So my tree and soul are perfect fit. 

This is my chip 

Of blazing stone — 

I gave it lip 

And plume and zone 

To dartle, by which I know 

'Tis all as I would be, and so 

I watch it steal Orion's glow. 

Here is one box 
Of rainbow flowers, 
Summits of phlox 
Like country showers 
732 



Brilla 733 



Of color, and they come to be 
Flame and crock and velvety 
To match the very soul in me. 

One blue clear sky 

Halts overhead; 

One blue clear eye 

Will turn it red 

And round, so there comes to be 

Myself out there I come to see, 

All immenses but part of me. 

Comet may sweep 

Across my sky 

To take the leap 

Of eternity 

And I have it, for the path is true, 

I breathe it, for my sky is blue, 

I am it, for I leap there too. 

Overhead 

The dew is ripe, 

Is steel or red. 

Is oxeye-stripe; 

My peabody whistles between leaves, 

Underneath the wine-vine weaves — 

Oh, how my heart gallops and heaves 

As just inside 

The prison air. 

Hoping to hide. 

Yet waiting me there 

Is Brilla — she knows my way 

Of drinking at each fountain-day. 

Of playing as the tune-birds play, 



734 Brilla 

So comes to me 

Out of her net 

Of briony 

And mignonette, 

Out of her flock of laughing swallows, 

Spikenard nooks, talking hollows — 

Oh, how the moon steps down and follows 

After her there 

To light her way 

By cunning care 

To where I play 

My song between the willows 

When the grasses bend in billows 

Where this moon-wind stops and pillows. 

To see her now 

Between her stalks 

Of laurel-bough 

And holly-hocks 

You would think she meant to be 

Herself just, all apart from me, 

With her toss and song of divinity. 

Yet am I there 

Fast in her heart 

To claim my share, 

To play my part 

Of part of her evermore soul, 

For she is more than brow or jole, 

More than the roundabout blazing whole. 

This is my night 
Of summer power. 
Each world is bright, 
Each little flower 



Brilla 735 

Puts a hand up so I may see 
This earth has more to offer me 
Than plunket or pot-herb-sap or glee, 

To wit, the thing 

I tie to most, 

This towering 

Of thought and ghost 

To see how Beauty holds the palm. 

So I climb by giant arm 

To capture the unseen cheek and charm, 

The which is soul, 

Beyond her too, 

More than the whole 

Deep dome of blue 

I go to, while I look to see 

Worlds upon worlds there lavishly, 

Yet all the smallest part of me. 

This is her flower. 

There is her bird. 

They take an hour 

To be seen and heard 

As we do — how well they show 

Beauty is the way to go, 

Beauty is soul incognito. 

Belamour flower 

I take and give; 

Now is our hour 

To love and live 

And we there in Muscatel vine, 

She like the swanflower true and fine 

And all loftiness and all mine. 



736 Brilla 

'Tisso I hold 

To her tiny hand, 

Her lock of gold, 

Her lip of sand 

To fasten to what is more worth 

Than these trinkets of time and earth, 

Her thought and heart beyond any girth. 

As sky is too, 

While so I know 

Our way is true. 

The way we go 

To get together in soul and heart 

In another day, by a soulfuller art. 

No more this clay to hold us apart. 

Under this tree, 

Both she and I, 

To love, to be, 

To dream, to die. 

High up over hope or fear 

To strike for what is true and peer. 

And so the language of death is clear. 



BY LOVE 

An attach^e of supremity-ground, 

A dictator, 
As ever was found 

In kilts above ground 
For curator, 

Was the man of the place, was this man 
Of great crown-buttons, with scarce more than 

The look of a lynx in his night-light span. 

Unthinkable old, 

So my story is, 
Of such a king 

Over Salamis 
To strike amiss 

By his reckoning, 
As all the world, you may take my word, 

Never before or since has heard 
Since the hearts of men by their lot were stirred. 

He was young, took the king-look through, 

Each eye like a knot 
Looked split in two, 

Half umber, half blue 
To hide his plot. 

So only the devil himself could tell. 
By measuring up the parallel, 

How much was man in him, how much was hell. 
47 737 



738 By Love 

Ultimate despot he grew to the core: 

"Now is a king 
For you to adore, 

Whim and implore," 
Was his sermoning. 

For so he kept his people under, 
Kept them too stupid to stay his blunder — 

That he was hated is any wonder? 

Not more should his people know than he knew, 

Should keep their place. 
Keep well perdue. 

Well under him too 
To court his grace, 

As so he shaped them little of mind 
Til slaves they grew and were all inclined 

To put every independence behind. 

What a tax he put, and they gave their gold! 

So he kept them poor, 
So kept his hold. 

As the tale is told. 
Made his kingdom sure, 

As he thought, by his power over all, 
His people scarce more than talking doll — 

So was the kingliness in him small. 

Young he was, and so wild at the feast 

Men thought him mad. 
Or that wanton at least 

As any beast 
By his way he had 

Of holding to all was prodigal, 
Of holding such drunken carnival 

As to full the brute in him, pit and caul. 



By Love 739 



Up at his hill-top his palace stood, 

Poked over the brow 
Like a woman's hood 

In wild olive snood, 
So all should see how 

He could perch up above men in air, 
Could make his home like the heavens are fair 

To spin his spider-life out, nor a care. 

Up at the castle each night was afire 

With crown-jewel blaze, 
With new wild desire 

To reach lower, higher 
Than eye could gaze, 

To glut his gluttonous lip, 
Let the bloodhounds of carnival slip, 

Unload a nation to stuff his kip. 

Yet never he loved ! His time was not yet, 

So his heart stood cold! 
Soul is to net 

Out of fire and jet 
And hunger and gold ! 

Love is to come like a ring of sun 
To tempt the aloe-blossom to run 

A path above earth, and the two are one. 

King must stroll as men do to take 

A hand at the flowers, 
A look at the drake 

In his meadow-lake. 
To idle the hours — 

So he is off to his lily-brook. 
There to have a leap and a look 

To see how this world is one fashion-book. 



740 By Love 

Right as he comes to the opposite side 

Of his talking brook 
Where bluefins hide, 

Where maples are dyed 
Like a noble duke, 

Face to face to him there she stood, 
A maid like a Paradise-bird in a wood, 

Like the very lilies are fine and trued. 

Never he knew of such Beauty before 

In the times of men. 
Of such smile as she wore. 

Of such soul in store. 
Her laugh like the note of a wren 

Once he ripples his song 
Where clouds are curled 

In between skies which are coral and pearled, 
As if he came from another world. 

His heart is lost as the dew is gone 

In one lofty sun ! 
Never before such Beauty shone 

For king to feast upon 
Since thought begun ! 

To speak his soul all suns above 
Or tongues below counted not enough — 

All a king could do was to say — I love! 

" Dear Sire," she answered, "there 's the one word. 

So my people say. 
Never was heard 

From your lip, nor stirred 
Your heart in your day ! 

To think that such fortune should fall to me 
To hear it first, or that I should be 

The woman to lead you to love and see! 



By Love 741 

"Only a peasant girl, as you know, 

And you a king 
To have the world go 

As you want it, so 
I flinch at the thing 

To think how the world bows down to you. 
To think how small I am in your view, 

Then to think of this — I love you too ! 

"Yet are we parted — this brook between 

To hold us apart, 
Lilies set in evergreen 

Lie there to intervene; 
They ply their art 

And we may not nip them in the root — 
Lilies are not to hawk and loot, 

To stand against the romp of the brute. 

"There are my people, my lilies too, 

To stand between us ! 
How their lips are blue 

Or whited through, 
Their look to wean us 

From any love we could have in view 
Like your love of me, my love of you, 

Save that we take them to heart with us tool 

"See they are people like me and you, 

Have hands and feet 
And dimple and thew, 

Have great hearts too; 
Freedom is sweet 

To them as freedom is sweet to you 
To think and feel and speak and do — 

If you love me, oh, love my people too! 



742 By Love 

"Give them what you have power to give, 

Their right to be free, 
Their right to Hve 

Above ' but' or * if, ' 
Their right to be 

Each one his own great self and king, 
Loftiness just for love of the thing. 

No more to crawl to your club and sting. 

"Give them of the spirit of things to drink, 

Of the wild white air 
Of freedom to think 

To the outer brink, 
Greatness to dare. 

Mightiness to strike to do 
Noblier, if it be, than you — 

If you love me, oh, love my people too ! 

"So shall they love you too in the end. 

That you can know! 
On friend for friend 

You may depend, 
For soul is so ; 

So take my word to your heart for true: 
My people are one in the heart with you — 
; Love them and they shall love you too! 

"We are as one, my people and I, 

Nor meant to part 
More than our sky 

And its redded dye — 
One soul, one heart; 

So here is my truest word to you 
As my heart is yours and my soul is true : 

Would you love me, you shall love them too. 



By Love 743 



There is my strong man pinned like a leaf 

To its olive branch ! 
A maid for chief 

And the words are brief 
And the love is staunch ! 

"Take her," his soul says, "for this is love; 
Pay the price, that is never enough; 

Take her people too — they are worth your love. 

What steel cold sword in his eye is gone! 

Comes another man 
Than was counted on 

When he was born; 
Comes the larger plan 

Than to monarchize by kick and blow, 
His people under thumb and toe — 

Love has him — nature meant it so. 

Now in his eyes is her image set; 

He has her in arms 
For queen and pet 

And coronet, 
One freshet of charms ! 

In his eyes at any hour is seen 
Her soul there where the brute had been — 

Love is his kingdom and spirit-queen. 

Down in her eyes, which are perfect blue 

For forget-me-not, 
Is his image too 

As his soul is true 
Beyond kink or plot, 

While 'round them gathers the evening dew 
In moonrise and the drops are blue — 

See how their people are 'round them too! 



744 By Love 



What tall strong man in his giant-make, 

And she so small 
As to hang to his neck 

Like an emerald-speck! 
How love is all ! 

How love is all in the world there is 
Frees men, yet lets them not slip amiss! 

What is there shall govern a world like this? 



ALIOTH 

Hold to your star, the bright best in you, 
Worth more than all the rest in you; 
Count not the magnitude of it nor sheen, 
— Stars dip deepest which are not seen — 
Just a light now and then 
To snuff out, flash up again. 
Little scintillations of men 
To show you your star is there 
Somewhere 
In the deep tall air. 

You yourself just, never another, 

Be he soul-fashioned and best brother, 

You to be you, there 's your trick 

To master monk and candlestick. 

Your star for you, his for him 

With his bob-squat maudlin altar- whim, 

Beggar-lip, 
You to seize at your star, 

Near or far, 
Sweep your sky by the eagle-dip. 

Your star first, then next 
This heavenly-body text: 
In the wide sky there 's not a sun 
Steals his fire from another one, 
745 



746 Alioth 

Nor looks for what of it or why 
He punctures an empty sky, 
Dilates his clean gold-axle eye, 
Save the Beauty of it, fair 

As the glassy air 

Forever there. 

Hold to your star, there 's the thing 
Will not wince nor pray nor cling 
To Power, which is anenst it — 
Power is there and you against it 
To be whipped into shape and size 
By the thunder-stroke skies 

To learn to rise — 
Power to crush you in the shut, 
Like as you crush a nut 

To get the gut ; 

Power about you for you to strike 
Against it God-fashion-like 
For fear of nothing — what loss 
Counts against one virtue-cross? 
Beauty is Power, 
Power is Beauty — 
Hard endurance, harder duty 
To ripen a man that he leap 
Into the star-pointed deep 
Blossom-like, evening-fair 

As the worlded air. 

Did she not so, she who was the whole 
Bright heart in me and striving soul 
Who gave me a world to know it 
Was meant that I should outgrow it 



Alioth 747 

So as one day to break my shell 
To see for sure how all is well 
Above the smallness that things seem ; 
How, 'spite of such little as I see, 
There 's more next close in just about me 
Beyond all human dream? 

Get you up to what you are, 

Like yonder patient star 

In crimson wings and marigold. 

Never less, never old, 

Out of reach of earth 

And death and birth — 
One winged yonder star, 
Iris-eyed, heavenly-far 
Burning in its ashes to rise 

Phenix of the skies! 



MIDFIELD THOUGHTS 

There was I by my flag-root ditch 
Right at the dawning 
Of one mighty morning 
I leaned against my round striped elm, 
One which fetched a forward pitch 
Like a sailor at the helm, 
As if to spread for me an awning 
To dash the sun off — overhead 
Cheeped the piefinch, underneath 
Pill-beetles began to breathe, 
Witch-chicks thimbled the tops of trees, 
Hops were in bell, each merlin was up, 
Each poppy with copper cup 
Took each moment to scoop the breeze. — 
What counts a morning of sun. 
An evening of dark, 
An hour begun 
On the wings of a lark, 

And she gone, 

My Rosalie gone 

To not return, 
'Though winds mourn, 'though skylids burn? 

Just about me in my field 

Was dew-spatter, lily-yield; 

748 



Midfield Thoughts 749 

There tumbled among the brake 

My single carroty finch 
To strike his straight blow at a chinch 

Before he straightened to undertake 
His mountain-song to surprise 
The gold-eyed silent skies. 
Thistle-butterfly and painted lady 

Kept together as if mated, 
Sun-trout began to look sun-sated, 

Took a new pond-hole to be shady. 
As there in my wide pasture-field. 

There where spirits come to be healed, 
I only thought, as I thought: 

What is all of it, what not. 
Grass that is ripe and well meant, 

Sun-blown jumping merriment, 
How could they make me content 
And she gone. 
My Rosalie gone 
Out of the dark. 
Out of the dawn? — 
Oh, for the note of a lark, 
Oh, for the song I lack 
To call her back! 



Choke-cherry, 

Tapered balsam, 

Poke-berry 

And the small sum 

Of pretty bee-ways 

For little relays 

Of honey-dew moly, 

Heaven wholly 



750 Midfield Thoughts 

To glut the wind 

Til every blossom has been thinned- 

Song-robins mell-mellow, 

Sand-dunes half yellow, 

My Pequot Indian mound, 

A generation under ground 

And I top. 

Not a breath to stop — 

All Beauty next about 

To find, yet past all finding out. 



There was my cat-call bird 

Straight over his mud-bottom ling, 
One lynx-eyed note in every word 

Til the wild wood-wild begun to ring- 
So what mattered if life 

Were battered by strife, 
What counted trouble 

More than a bubble. 
Save that she was not there. 

My Rosalie, kind and fair 
As the silverly air? 

Gone — and whatever I joy to see. 
The world is no more the world to me. 

But hark, there 's my robin-song 

Piped in the pasture yonder! 
Hark to each bull-bell gong 

In sea-grass, chimes disjointed 
'Though soulsome, eagle-pointed 

Til I am brought to ponder 
How in among graves and barrows 

Floats the happy chat of sparrows — 



Midfield Thoughts 75^ 

Cunning in a spider's net 

Which catches sun and thunder-wet 
To stitch up gold and green and jet 

For Beauty for no matching yet — 
Or there over the boulder-wall 

Meadows in meadow-sweet — there's the call 
Of one tufted titmouse, how he will pause 

Between songs, as if for your applause! — 
There, too, is the king-blue sky 

Departing always, never to die, 
But always and always the same blue sky — 

So I said to me. Was not she 
Part of the one eternity 

Of Beauty I see about, 
Past finding, past all dying out? 

'Round me coils my brook 

To go its way 

Out into the bay 

Far off where I look 
As I say: 
Out in their mighty host 
Of waters my brook is lost, 
While just here at my feet 
It coils about me still, 
Sun-sparkle, picture-fill 
Of valued volume complete, 
My same brook here at my feet 
For always to coil and go 
And leave me and yet stay, 
As if for a purpose to show ' 
Spirit takes an endless way 

The same way so. 



GUNFLINT 

War to the knife, 
Each man for his life, 
Cossack and Jap 
At the thunder-clap 
Of belching guns 
To spit them through, 
To flash the blue 
Like a flock of suns — 
Hail to the chief 
And his beckoning 
His men to come on, 
Hail to his reckoning. 
Past belief. 
How he counted on 
Columns of lives 
To settle the thing, 
Childlings and wives. 
Nor a pity-ring 
Of his muffled heart — 
Now for a start. 
Now for the hill 
To smash them down, 
To riddle and kill, 
To swamp the tov/n 
By his bullet-spill — 
, 752 



Gunflint 753 

Now for a blow 

Where they breathe 

Quick and low 

At his monster-thud 

And they swallow their teeth 

And they drink their blood — 

Cannon to kill 

And the field is red 

Of the blood they spill — 

Once it was said 

They never knew 

Why they fought and bled — 

Think of it, too, 

Of the thousands dead 

To settle your facts 

By spit and axe, 

By a blow instead 

Of the spirit-art 

Of head and heart — 

At it again, 

Your shell-shot rain 

Of noble might 

To make things right 

By power of pain — 

Stab at the heart, 

Smash at the face. 

Plant your killing-art 

In every place 

To crush and cower 

And smallen a race, 

To capture power 

And pomp and place — 

Strike at the jaws 

Of murder-laws. 



754 Gunflint 



Rip out the ribs, 
Crush in the nowl, 
Scatter their soul 
To the finger-nibs — 
Small matter the boy 
In his April-blood 
Who folds his joy 
Like a folded bud — 
Nor conscience counts 
If a king may rise 
Nearer the skies 
Now his kingdom mounts, 
And there the Word, 
Your sacred law, 
That a king is lord 
Worth fighting for! 
Now to your cuts, 
Scatter the field 
With blossom-yield 
Of fingers and guts — 
Do men count it odd 
They serve their God 
To worship a day, 
To smirk and pray 
While they count it well 
To send the others, 
Their neighbor-brothers, 
The way of hell? 
Cossack and Jap 
To the cannon -gap 
For slaughter, for power 
To crush a race 
Out of state and place 
In its leaf and flower — 



Gunflint 755 

Dragoons and tars, 

How their faces white 

Soften the night 

Like whited stars, 

Now they lie in state 

Across ditch and slate, 

Conquered and gone 

And you look on 

At the hellish work 

With your Christian smirk, 

You Powers of the earth ! — 

What 's your worship worth? 



THINKING OF PRESTON 

Over Lantern Hill one downing sun 

Spit fire like the boom of an evening gun 

Where winter hung a last rag 

Of snow for truce to one spindle-crag, 

Stone walls beginning to arm with thistles 

Now the yaffle taps, kildee whistles, 

Woodrufif takes root to stout 

To cast a shadow for a trout, 

And all the swallows are there 

To cotton to the careful air 

Or to Avery Pond for its pretty pout. 

To think of being in Preston 
Where I got my fine first lesson 
In swamp-apples, in May 
And chipmunk-cheep 

And that wondrous October pumpkin-heap 
In each field, low or high land, 
Which rose there like a coral island ! 
How a child is thinking who may say. 
Who shall know, from his small span 
Of earth, his heart-mighty sweep 
Of faith and feeling, so true, so deep, 
If he be not, i' faith, the real man? 
Eunice knew my wants, 
Knew each field in my uncle's farm 
Of meadow-track, pond-hole haunts, 
756 



Thinking of Preston 757 

Now she and I would take an hour 

To angle for a cuckoo-flower 

Or bluestart, seize at that silver charm 

Of lying, face down, to look 

For minnows to twinkle in a brook. 



Those are marvellous days 

To seem so much, to be so small — 

Pick-nothing lightest popinjays 

Were we, only knee and knuckle- ways, 

Yet they filled the soul — and soul is all. 

Now look you, you of the season-gang, 

How you plowed your way up the world to power. 

Lip white as an alabaster flower. 

And died, while the bell-tower rang 

How you gulped a world down, swallowed the whole 

Into pretty much just an empty soul ! 

How I grew, and she grew, 

So soon it came our time to think 

Each of the other, yet each knew 

Of nothing more than a pigeon-wink, 

Of nothing a whit-bit more than this 

That love in the world should come first 

To stop questioning and stop thirst. 

Whether the purpose hit or miss ! 

One would think love should wait 

For the full man to grow proportionate 

To life at a purpose, purpose-great, 

Never just to get together. 

After the fashion of reeve and ruff, 

To swallow only the glutton-love 

Of cluck or a lemon feather. 



75^ Thinking of Preston 

Eunice, do you remember how 

In my uncle Nathan's berry-field 

— What drupes were there, what a yield!— 

I waited for you once in my bough 

Of shagbark to try to hide, 

While you came late by the pasture-wall 

And there was snuggled to my side 

When I feared you might not come at all— 

And then — you know how two souls meet 

When waiting is long, footfall sweet — 

Oh, how we held us, heart to heart, 

Like a leaf and its cheek, not meant to part — 

You know how I flew at those lips 

Like a bee darts back and forth, then dips 

For sweet — 't is worth relating 

How after that you always kept me waiting ! 

Or one evening — you remember 

Our first week in our first September 

We saw the moon together — 

Oh, how I watched it spray your hair 

Til a pheasant's feather dartled there! — 

I was trying to ask whether 

Such a moon, with such pale gold face, 

Might not be one brighter place 

We go to, once all is over here. 

When you drew close to me, drew 

My arm about you as if to say: 

"Be the time far off or near, 

Whenever you go, I go too, 

There shall be no parting-day." 

Such another evening as that 
Was summer — we stood listening 



Thinking of Preston 759 

To one yellow-breasted chat. 

One star in each cheek of sky was glistening, 

Each blade of grass speared a drop of dew 

Like a finger putting a ring on for you 

To sprinkle olive, moss-pink, blue, 

While all the while my soul-desire 

Was there in your own pink lip, and higher, 

Your eye for one jewelful of fire. 

One wild rose-bush lay tangled dense 

In the fingers of your fence. 

Your hand against the bowers , 

One flower more among the flowers. 

When soon I saw you — youth needs must 

Untwist a rose — draw back from the thrust 

It gave for fillip of scorn, 

While, now I drew its needle-brand 

Out of the tiny flower-hand, 

I sought to have you understand 

Rose grew never without a thorn. 



By morning, now sun was up, 

Our sky looked like an emptied cup, 

Still over us, but bottom up, 

So, by rights, one would look around 

To see stars scattered on the ground. 

When, lo, we found them, there they were, 

No question, and all eyes on her: 

One water-lip, like a diamond-drop, 

Curled at the end of each plume of grass, 

A whole sun in it, all for a crop 

Of stars like the harvest-heaven has ! 

So said I: Between two such skies 

Wovild you think love fails, man ever dies. 



76d Thinking of Preston 

Since, whichever way you go, 
There 's your galaxy put 
Overhead, underfoot 
For certain, that you may know 
How, whether you fall or rise, 
You are prisoner 'twixt two skies. 

God's one Preston — that much I learned 

When thought smoldered, heart burned! 

Since I knew you I 've known many ways. 

Put the cup up, drained the days, 

While, oh, how I would now turn track 

To have my pond-hole and chipmunk back. 

And mink-brook, deep because always black; 

My blueling that'dodges and dips 

In front of two bluebottle lips 

As if afraid the flower, so like it. 

Were another blueling to dodge and strike it!- 

Wherever I go, whatever part is 

Mine to take to beat back death 

Or try to get a longer breath, 

There, only just there, my heart is 

By the pasture- wall and my shagbark tree 

And — Eunice, do you remember me? 



EUTHANASIA 

Have not a fear of death, O friend, 
Nor think it an end ! 
True, here is life, while out there 
Is what or what not 
Of the whole vast everywhere 
Supremely wrought 
Where I see it crumble, come to death 
For want of breath, 
As an osmund will die for lack of dew, 
A plum-leaf bend a last bow to you 
If the sun split it through — 
They need only dew and fire 
To float them higher. 
While you there are other stuff. 
And not enough 

Is plum-life your life to argue plum-death 
To be your death — 

For look how the hawfinch sits and taps 
Moonlight in twenty laps 
Before he naps, 

While high as he may see for springing 
Is his cloud he puts to ringing 
By the chime-bell in his singing, 
Soul perhaps. 

Then cold comes, and he has done 
All he thought ever or begun, 
His wheeling song about the sun 
761 



762 Euthanasia 

For Nile-green grace, 

While you there, you rise on his song 

Beyond place, 

Beyond lute and love and scuppernong 

To take fancy which puts soul swinging 

Outside finch-music or life clinging 

To where 

Is Beauty supersensuous fair 

And no other, while you know 

However much your world may show 

Of power to glut and body-grow. 

Soul is not so! 

There 's a Beauty not of the world, 

Neither diamonded nor pearled; 

I see it when 

Losses make the most of men: 

Or there it is when I see 

Life for such uncertainty. 

And you 

Bound so to be brave and true 

And not question and not know 

Why under heaven it is so 

Beyond this, that you shall be pastor 

Of your own destiny and grand master. 

You see it when the best you do 

Little profits you, 

Or, i' faith, it may sweep you under, 

While men look on, call it blunder. 

The best in you will have small use 

Of glut-pot or hunting-noose. 

Yet the best is there 

For Beauty super senuous fair, 

And use, too, some certain other- where. 



Euthanasia 763 

A supernaculum of Beauty 

Is love of truth, is love of duty, 

While either may 

Put you under bond to pay 

Your life for it and not know 

More than that Beauty breathed it so 

You should give life up for love and go. 

Once was a butcher, so is told, 

Grew to where he could not kill 

For his daily gold, 

Could not spill 

Lambs' blood, could not strike the face 

And kind eye and gentle grace, 

Could nohow do it 

Nor coax his bosom half way to it. 

Never too old 

To learn new ways of getting gold, 

So took this to him: Better I 

Cease killing; better I 

Go my way, give them their way. 

Than I kill them in their fair day; 

There 's up and down on every stairway, 

Gold is not all. 

Since now one truth stands manifest: 

I make most of me and best 

If I live so all the rest, 

In field or stall. 

May have their life their way. 

Nor I to rob them of their small day. 

Thus it was 

Somewhat of him claimed nobler cause 

Than gut-growth by natural order laws. 

Till he should see 



764 Euthanasia 

Man has of him more than he may be 
In one small pocket of eternity. 



Death comes, while how to meet it 

Better you probe than how to beat it, 

Seeing this that you 

Have more at heart than you may do 

Or think even, fight it through 

As you will to gain an end. 

Drop a foe, win a friend, 

For, compass all you may long to reach, 

Your whole world, all they hope or preach, 

Yet is there more of you. 

Mighty more 

Than world-life, a thousand million score 

More than your whole thinking too. 

To show 

There 's no Heaven where you would go 

Of which you would know, 

Nothing above soulfullest man 

For which you would plan, 

No gain, no compensation 

For being great. 

For being conqueror of fate, 

A God in your own creation. 

There 's the new sphere, 

Something otherwise than here, 

Yet purposey, not for pining — 

There 's nowhere an ear 

Against sky or sphere 

Will catch your whining — 

New purpose, more purpose, new ends. 

But the old friends, always the old friends, 



Euthanasia 7^5 

Since we go together, you and I. 

Together forever, 

Souls meant not to die. 

But achieve, pursue ever 

One landlordly march 

To where there is an end never 

Through the blue gold arch 

On and on, 

Each new purpose more masterly done 

As we reach out towards the spirit-sun. 

Who would wish to think 

Of a universe with a brink 

And God there to say: 

"Here 's an end— I "ve done my best 

For you and you, the thing was a jest— 

I 've had my day. 

Lost my hold, run my race, 

Here 's an end of power and place, 

I 've had my day, I 've had my day? 

Straight otherwise 

Are those enamel eyes 

Which puncture the skies 

So you, too, may get your sight 

Of the super-cosmic might 

Of soul 

Which is over and above the whole, 

And you one certainest part, 

O gentle heart! 

Yet death comes, so how to meet it, 

And that way beat it? 

Play pot-fly, would you, to mouse 

By the footfall of a louse. 

To build a nest 



766 Euthanasia 

To tickle in, make merry 

At a squill or winterberry, 

Nor build your wide side up and best? 

How to meet it 

To not fear but to welcome-greet it? 

There 's one way 

Certain and clear as any day — 

Not spider-play 

To sting some brother, sap his heart. 

Swallow his country, bowl him under 

The spark of blunder, 

Your trigger and torpedo art — 

Not to school 

Brothers to bondage so you may rule, 

Nor yet 

To count life worth only power to get 

More power, more gold. 

And you here just to tighten your hold— 

Nor yet 

To knuckle under to let power 

Dominion you, ^ 

Bring you to mince and cower 

At cassock or cowl, to look through 

Their hat-flap to see what is true — 

No creed 

Save what you build yourself — there 's need 

Of you, 

Of all you may think or do 

Which is you — 

Man above priestism, above passions, 

Fashioned to fashion his own fashions — 

As if their pulpity view 

Made for more value than you, just you, 



Euthanasia 767 

Since ye are Gods 

To make mighty against all odds, 

Self king over self to perfect man — 

There 's your plan 

Of fortification against power 

Of God or man, 

That yon may come to command, 

Beyond fear, the fine other spirit-land, 

You your own God at your own right hand. 



IMPERIALISM 
Hector 

Here 's the place — how will this do 

For luck to you, 
This edge of the world's edge 
And river-rune 
This amber part of June? 
I pledge you my pledge 
'T is secret as a woman's age, 

The place is, 
To fight it out in, so here 's my gage 
To cross licks with you — 

No paces. 
But hand to hand — 
On guard, then, take your stand! 

AjAX 

So ! The place is well — 

Not a wind's whimper to tell 

Who put first blow, 

Who got the last — 

Time is past 
For pretty palaver — 

So, then, let go 
768 



Imperialism 769 



Your upper-cut for power 
To settle who shall have her 

In an hour — 
Luck hugs the best elbow-growth 
Since she may not have us both. 

Hector 

Right reason that ! Nature's way ! 

Two want her — one gets her in the end — 

Power settles which — 
Rags to him who drops a stitch ! — 

Square off, defend ! 
Best man gets her for matter of course, 
The universe is ruled by force — 

A fair day 

For fair play 
And, good my friend, your hand to hitch 
To this : he has her 
To play pigeon or Belshazzar 
Who topples 't' other into the ditch! 

AjAX 

A word — your word 

She shall not know 

We struck a blow — 
A woman's heart once stirred, 

And who may tell 
Which way 't will jump, whether to him 
Who took her fancy by knuckle-vim, 
Or by pity to the one who fell? 

Caution, lest he who wins 
Should, by keen kicking, lose his shins! 



770 Imperialism 



She must not know 
We struck a blow. 

Hector 

Bah to that ! Syrupy palaver ! 

A tentative too pale and flat! 

My hand for this, I '11 not have her 

If I lose — I for man, 
She to side as she chooses, 

On the woman-plan, 
But she shall not have the one who loses — 
Else why fight for her? Better some trick 
Of hitch-halt to mimic sick 

To catch her pity — 

May do for you. 

From your feather- view, 

To play cockatoo — 

Neither rough nor pretty! 

AjAX 

So! Take that, then, a louis d'or 
On the under-jaw, 
My flexor-mark! — 

Hector 

And you that, by exchange. 
An eagle in the cheek to stop your bark 
At close range ! — 

AjAX 

These knuckles in your teeth — now reel, 
Fold double as a knotted eel! — 



Imperialism 77^ 

Hector 

Not so! Take that to you 

For a cross-cut to split you through, 

Bloodhound!— you want skill— 

AjAX 

But not power, not will, 

As how d' you fancy that 

For a death-blow to stagger at?— 

Hector 

Good, but no skill to lodge it. 
Simple enough to duck and dodge it. 
But not so simple this 
Plump under-dig for you to miss I— 

AjAX 

Your throat, whelp, till I pick 
The pipes out — 

Hector 

Scarce yet— 't is not a loving trick— 

The Juneful air about 

Is too sweet tasting to let slip 

In your condor-grip — 

AjAX 

Slow work, too crab-wise slow 
To pound a way to her, blow and blow- 
Men who would fight for wives 
Should come to knives — 



772 Imperialism 

Hector 

Short order, then, to a clinch, 
Death to him who yields an inch! — 

AjAX 

Smart said — now for your throat 
To put soul afloat ! — 

Hector 

Mebbe so — that was a welt 
Below belt, 
An underhanded lick, 
A dirty demon trick — 

AjAX 

As here 's another — 
I 'm not hugging you for brother — 
Whip a knife out — to the knife 
For the woman, or your life! — 

A Voice 

Stop — enough! What matters 

The slash or stab? — Your best point, 

A pick-axe in the elbow-joint 

To tear each other to tatters 

Were less than nothing 

In any kind of soul-betrothing, 

Which is heart-work, which is above 

Slashing eyes in, teeth out 

And blood about — 

They call it love 

Who know best — I 'm sure the plan 



Imperialism 773 

Points a gentler kind of gentleman 

Than game-cock — scarcely recruits 

From swashbucklers, brutes. 

I was longing for song, 

I was longing to be free 

An hour from the rivalry 

Of right and wrong — 

Chance took me to the river 

So I might see the quiver 

Of an aspen, of a river-lip 

Which does not let the sun-cheek slip — 

So I might catch the sway 

And Sun-tune of a pinon-jay, 

Watch a piemag pass, 

A bee at a breath of lemon-grass. 

Catch his flute and ellipse 

Where he bobs and sips, 

When, right as I was swallowing rhymes 

From a treeful of thistle-birds, 

They carolling like a stack of chimes, 

I trying to learn the organ words, 

Lo in the river there drifted a drop 

Of blood my way — it seemed to stop. 

Changed then its course as if to go back, 

Quite as much as to say : 

"Follow me, I have a knack 

Of knowing, I know the way. 

The whence I came, follow me 

The river up, you shall see 

The whence I came, the where men pick 

Each other's throats out — 't is true — 

Send their steel teeth to the quick 

For tender love just — love of you!" 

I saw a diamond-shrike sweep 



774 Imperialism 



Sunward, away from where 

Blood fretted the pleasant air, 

Into his unknown deep. 

Knowing not of right or wrong, 

Only his life-long song 

And Beauty and wing he knew, 

And I thought how it must be true 

Of soul one day, the way he had 

Of not knowing good or bad. 

But Beauty only, his way of flying 

Starward, where I see no dying, 

His way of taking earth 

For what it is worth, 

A place to touch just for springing 

Into his cloud of gold 

Where nought wrinkles or is old, 

To set his white sky ringing 

For joy just, joy which pierced his singing. 

Women mate men — ah, I see. 

There 's Beauty in a broken jaw, 

In heart-hate, in savagery. 

Worth coddling, worth loving for. 

So man may measure, by elbow-angle, 

His soul-size, since to wrangle 

Is the man of it to let loose 

The hell in him of lynx and moose 

To mark him captor-captain 

Of hearts by the kind of force 

Heart hurries to, is so rapt in, 

He my high-chosen one of course! 

Mark you now this: By the whole high whole 

Hierarchy of Heaven is it not given 

To men to be greater than soul 

Or to think of it even ! 



Imperialism 775 

Less they may be, most are, 

So you get brother-slaughter, get war, 

Get gut-royalty, get the cock-eye vision 

Which aims, by mud- weevil precision, 

To put power above Beauty, above man 

To unshape, unskull him, closet him. 

Clap him in place, posit him 

To one circumference, one view. 

So he mark toe-time to you or you — 

Wholly because you think power 

Governs the universe, so you 

Would take a hand at it to govern too, 

Nor see in each little finger-flower, 

In your dew-trinkling lotos-bower 

There 's that behind which governs power — 

For look to it how all I see 

Goes tumbling-crumbHng eternally 

Where worlds fly up, where a comet dives, 

Yet Beauty, only Beauty survives! 

There 's the man of it — my man ! 

He shall be soulfullest soul 

To round up and complete the whole 

High heart in him — my man 

To out-fashion dagger- work, to know this: 

Force is weakness, there 's not a right 

Was royaled ever by force of might — 

My man for master-gentleness. 

Which is Beauty — how now are no scars 

Across the faces of the stars ! 

Put up your dirks — women mate men 

For manliness — your butcher-trick 

To match knuckles and elbow-pick 

Makes not a point in ken 

Of mightiness, which is soul 



776 Imperialism 



Above worm-work and the whole 

Rough round of slaughter which makes not a part 

Of dominion such as plays 

For more soul and better days 

And higher thought and deeper heart. 

As well love one of you 

As tear my soul in two, 

Wed the cold squirming Niger, 

Crab-rat, fang-footed tiger! 

Oh Beauty, thee just I sing, 

Soul of my truth, wing of my wing 

To circle above worlds, beyond lives, 

Where only what is fair survives. 

Only to thy lip I cling! 



KNOW THY CHICK 
Father 

My daughter? You want my daughter? 

Why, Count, there she is. 
All her own. Mistress-Miss, 

Yet you never caught her. 
At her greeting or adieu. 

Giving half a look to you ! 
There she is, able to say. 

Eager to have her own wish and way ! 

You love her? Ah, so! 

But, Count, there 's your penny-look 
And she an heiress — you know 

Whichever way you hide 
Your hungry soul inside. 

Gold in a glutton's eye will show — 
So look alive, have a care. 

Play fox, watch well how you set your snare ! 

But, Count, one other thing 

Claims your reckoning: 
You are at your best 

In your purple crest, 
Your braided breast. 

Shoe-top shine, like a sleeping river 
Glistens, yet shows not a quiver, 

To make your bright side manifest; 



778 Know thy Chick 

Yet she looks deeper in you 

Than your collar-flap view; 
One look pierces clean through 

Battalions of buttons — she blows 
Your thistledown words aside like snows 

In a south wind — somewhat more 
You shall muster than pomp and snore 

For her to tie to and adore. 

But, Count — that love of yours! 

You understand, of course, 
How love is, 

How it never aims to miss. 
How one heart is wholly enough 

To hold its heavenful of love, 
Like as one drop of tiny dew 

Captures a heavenful of view 

To hold the picture up to you — 

Well, Count, now to be plain; 
Think not because she is small 

There 's no soul in her at all! 
One big body keeps a small soul, , 

Or 't' other way about, 
Many a small body hoists a big soul, 

To show you, past a doubt. 

Whichever way you twitch the name, 

Soul and body are not the same, 
Nor are tied together, are not one, 

Else how could such disparity be done? 
Well, Count, this truth I charge 

You take account of, 
She has a spirit which is large 

To such an amount of 



Know thy Chick 779 

Deep feeling for a friend, 

High thinking to complish an end 
As you by no thinking could comprehend! 

Yester evening I saw you prance 
About her as blue-fiies dance 

For hunger about a quince 
Just to get the grab and mince, 

Never a look to the opal-tints, 

For next I saw her gentle fan 

Brush you aside like a puff of bran ! 
Why, Count, when you spoke of love 

Each word told her quite enough 
To prove you knew not the whisper of love! 

There 's your rival — watch him go 
Slj^y to her, step-up slow, 

As if he never cared to know 

If she loved him too, for see him demur, 

Scarce able by a step to stir 
So mighty is his love of her 

As not to have words to speak. 
While she will watch the checks in his cheek 

How they blink and caracole 
To sign to her of his joy or dole 

Like a cipher of the soul. 

There he scarcely gives her one look, 

His eyes two volumes of a book 
She could read if once she saw 

What soul was couched in each of them 
As fire hides in a closeted gem — 

She knows his way of waiting for 
Evening to come, when he will not hide 

His soul he has or heart inside. 



7^0 Know thy Chick 



She knows he will never speak, 

She too never a word, 
Yet one day each will seek 

The other by lip and cheek 
And not a whisper to be heard — 

Soul's triumph — one may not array 
Love in language, there 's no way 

Great hearts may tell all they have to say, 

So, Count, in order to eke 

More of you than tongue could speak 
There shall be soul behind the cheek. 

There shall be more of you 
Than a breath of sweet cachou. 

Boots and ribbons black and blue, 
Lamplight for an eye. 

Sham flight of a fly. 

Shall I love another true 

If I have only myself in view? 
Much you shall think of to do 

To marshal paramount love in you. 
Look alive, have a care 

For what is noblest in you for fair! — 
There is love between those two, 

Hence I see no place for you! 

Count 

From your point of view 

I should think as you; 
Yet you lack a little knowing 

Would give you a better showing 



Know thy Chick 781 

Of your daughter — you think you know her, 

Yet is there a Httle more 
You might have seen, one weak point 

Puts her queenliness out of joint, 

To wit, her pack of vanity — 

I '11 be plain with you, sire, you see, 
Much as you have been with me — ■- 

So I make my attack 
Where she is weak, just for lack 

Of love in me, as you said — 
Having small heart I must use my head 

If I would win her to love and wed. 

An heiress and I need her gold, 

A lover and I need her love — 
I must play to be bold. 

Just to win is enough 
As this world goes, so I blink and bow, 

So I smooth and chatter her 
My cunning way to flatter her — 

If I win, what matters how? 

She is that you say she is. 

Nature made her noble and true. 
One I must not play to miss 

Since nature made her fragile too 
In this: with youth and her perfect heart 

She 's not content, must pinken the cheek, 
Coil her locks by cadgy art. 

Blue her eye to make it speak 

Less than soul has — pigment-tricks, 

There the yellow fustic sticks, 
Or pale powder by just a thrust 

Against her side cheek, dust to dust — 



782 Know thy Chick 



So she plays her moth- wing role, 

Turns attention away from soul — 

Made was her heart to win, 

Yet she rather would shine by curl and chin, 

So that way ' t was I caught her 
One sweet evening between lights, 

Paid such compliments to your daughter 
As filled her with new delights, 

Put her eyes dancing to drink and know 
More of me who could value so 

The pink in her and brow of a doll 
And pheasant-flutter over her all. 

I could talk by my knowledge-knack, 
Having no heart to keep me back, 

While he there, my rival bird, 
So by the love in him was stirred 

He could whisper never a word, 
Till that way it happened that she 

Gave her whole thought and whisper to me 
And more too, as you shall see 

When now I tell you this truth : 
I 'm sure there is a place for me 

Fast in her heart forsooth; 
I 'm sure my rival is not to be 

At her cheek and lip in place of me, 
For I was destined to have my way 

In this game of hearts by the hand I play — 
I married your daughter yesterday ! 



RIVALS 

There was my rival come from abroad, 

Approached me now like a crow-cock lord! 
Such was his Satrap-way 

You would, if you saw him, say, 
From his look of venomy, 

He took me for an enemy, 
I who had lost my sting, drew a sigh 

At his mouth-malice and chop-axe eye. 

He had not seen her for many a day, 

The girl who stood between us two, 
So came now to have his way. 

To claim her and take her too ! 
What could I count by my belfry-head 

Against his gold, since also he knew 
A way to have and to hold her too, 

In spite of me, as he said? 

My tower-bell notes I could ring. 
He would tumble his coin into chime 

So I should see how gold could sing 
High over my bagpipe of rhyme ! 

I was not handsome the man-like way. 
Had small voice to make me heard 

In a sweet girl 's heart where sun-stripes play 
If a morning breeze is stirred. 
783 



784 Rivals 

"Since both may not have her," he said, 
"Let one of us die! 

Better one should be dead 
Than he see her He, 

Like a locket of charms, 
In the other's arms ! 

To the knife and fight it out. 
Settle the thing by rule of rout, 

" Put all title to her past a doubt!" 
Nothing I said, so he took my way 

Of silence for simple "yea," 
Pointed yonder, "There," he said, 

"Is the churchyard, your one place for the dead! 
Whet your blade to split a hair, 

Never another word to spare 
And we *11 fight it out in the churchyard there!" 

Enough said, he led me over 
One wide field of pink-top clover, 

And now for certain and soon 
Stood we there in the willow-plot. 

Close by one Httle sorrow-dune 
Smothered in forget-me-not — 

"See, what a sweet flower," I said, 
" Lies here in this new garden-bed!" 

"Brilla" — just that was all — 
Her pretty name — each flower would say 

"She only laid here the other day. 
Soon we will follow her her new way. 

Since soul is large, life is small" — 
Each bird about, chebec or wren. 

Repeats his song just to tell me plain 
How all that is gone will come again. 



Rivals 785 

My hand in his hand he took 
His man-hearted way — 

There was one unspoken look 
Of a wound which has not a word to say 

As thereso he held to my hand 
— My loss his loss you understand — 

Rivals no more, but more than all others 
In the brotherless world we were brothers. 



PRIEST AND SEQUELA 
Sequela 

Come away from there ! 
That chapel boxes in the air, 

Boxes men up, roofs men under 
So they may not catch the thunder 

Nor see sight-Hght — come away 
From their candle-stick altar-play 

Of thumb and fee- work, 
As if God melted at a knee-jerk, 

Liked beggars, counted dimes, 
Was flattered by your troop of chimes! 

Certain or certain not, 
What is it matters what 

So I keep my master- thought, 
So I keep myself wholly 

Free of your dominion-folly? 
You sought me out when I was a child, 

When I knew not a way to know 
I was meant to battle to grow 

To mightiness mightily self-styled 
And no part of you or your crotchets 

For splitting kinks, flapping rochets. 
Then was I the child squarely: 

Did you play me honest-fairly 
Your day you pinned me to your thought 
786 



Priest and Sequela 787 

I never would have thought save you 
Held me to it, put me so 

For one way I must climb to grow, 
Nailed me to it, spit me through 

As you tack a creeper to a wall 
To lie there under your thumb and thrall ? 

Ah, but God gave me thought for growing 
My own truth, my way for knowing 

Truth, my truth, mine, mine — 
There 's the thing in me most divine ! 

See there a strip of sun how it plies, 
First at a chrysoprase for green, 

Next at cinnamon-stone which flies 
Crimson blood-royal sheen. 

Each his own stripe and tongue 
Of fire, each his own lip and lung ! 

My life, so far, I 've followed you 
Your dreary weary round 

Of clap-trap, onyx-camaieu 
Finger-rig, your poor candle-clue 

To truth, all you ever found 
By rooting scarce a pinch above ground — 

Candle-truth, candle-sighted, 
And the candle not once lighted, 

Careless you of the beautiful hour 
Of wings, so you come to power 

Over me, put me doing 
Your way, your winking, thinking, chewing 

Cheap chaff, drinking missal-stew 
That I may come to snivel and mew. 

That I may serve God by serving you ! 
I served my time — hold to that ! 

Perchance it is wholly well 
I know the mix of your aludel, 



788 Priest and Sequela 

I know your scowl and caveat — 
They point my truth I 'm driving at. 

Priest 

Yet is there God to serve, to fear! 
That part you underlook; 

Here it is written in a Book, 
While what more, i' faith, is needed 

That it should be heard and heeded? 
Who may look out on the cold high clear 

Of evening through the stars. 
Where not an atom jars, 

To know that there and here 
Is death, that death is near 

As the breath is of an hour? 
Who may look out at eternal Power 

For wonder and not a fear? 
So, too, I may not swerve 

From doom, man's doom to serve, 
F'or see, he may not nod a thumb 

But he serves a purpose, loud or dumb ! 
Service and fear — there are your kings 

Whom you shall not once escape, 
For they point the destiny of things. 

For they shape you to their shape. 
Who would be once without his fear, 

One part of him as God made him, 
Man's night-side, meant to shade him 

So his star may look through and clear? 

Sequela 

I 've followed you the round round 

Of whittled thought, knotted hands, 



Priest and Sequela 789 

Till this much I have found 

For majesty in man : what he withstands, 
What he out-powers or commands 

Makes for Power in him, which is Beauty — 
There he wrestles with stiff duty. 

There he lies down to die 
God-fashion, never a sigh, 

His star-soul like a sheet of sky 
For everlasting clear — 

While what do you rule by your lip of fear? 
Service, say you — there 's God to serve — 

As if the vast God could deserve, 
Could have one atom of one desire 

More than I make from high to higher 
By serving, not Him, thus humanly, 

But by serving the voice of power in me ! 
God is power of Beauty, Beauty of power. 

While there 's not for you to try to please it 
Save by reaching to try to seize it 

Somewhat in your life of an hour. 
Power is about me and anenst 

For me to put myself against 
By might of virtue, by hard endurance, 

Self-sustained, self-assurance, 
I, just the one man I 

Alone for what is sovereignty. 
Which puts all power to coddling me. 

Against me is power, all ways I turn, 
From sea-spout to sky supern 

Whose gold eye-balls spit and burn. 
Man is here his day and gone. 

While not out of the winking dawn 
Is Power he was meant to lean upon 

More than yonder flower which will rise, 



790 Priest and Sequela 

'Twixt storm and scorch, to pluck one lip 

Out of yonder scarlet skies, 
Hold the dawn-pink in its grip. 

Priest 

You know the weakness of man, 
What nothing he may span 

By contrast with sun or planet-flower, 
What no-time is his life in him. 

How his light feebles down to dim 
By contrast with one eternal hour! 

Power is above him, is beyond, 
Is against him, he under bond 

To kneel to it, kneel he must 
To his final defeat which is death. 

Give his heart up and lust of breath, 
So is he moulded to kneel, to trust. 

To look up, to knuckle down 
Under rulership and frown 

To win God for better, for worse. 
Swallow this life-lot like a curse — 

There 's the heel-stamp of the universe! 

Sequela 

So! Yet was one man I knew once. 

The man knocked out of him when a child, 
Was put to practising dupe and dunce. 

Was taught it was manlier to be mild 
And prayerful — he should be prince 

Of power by knowing how to wince 
The worm-way, he should stoop 

To please God, copy chicken-droop, 
Whimper, whine, snivel 

For cheap luck between God and Devil. 



Priest and Sequela 791 

So they put him, now he was young, 

To fetch scarce a wrinkle in his tongue, 
To his knees — he should learn how 

To wheedle, to thumb and bow, 
He should learn to put up each palm 

To keep sky off, pipe a sigh in psalm 
To save his gizzard from crop of harm. 

So he stooped while he grew. 
So he grew stoop, soon scarce knew 

If he was double or bent in two. 
Came his day when he awoke, 

When he tried to straighten, 
When he tried to greaten 

And could not, for there his back was broke. 
Against man is Power in the universe. 

He here for better or for worse 
To clinch with it and not yield 

'Though he lose his grip, his field; 
Power against him, he against Power 

To bring him to shape and size 
Above this clay-model of an hour, 

To force him by counterforce to rise 
A thumb higher — there are his skies 

Above always and beyond 
What he may comprehend. 

Yet is there in him that which is fond 
Of knowing there shall be no end 

Of anything, primely of him 
With his acrobat-heart, ego-vim. 

You have I followed, just you 
I bowed and listened to 

To learn of what is true. 
You for master, I to follow, 

I all gullet, I all swallow. 



792 Priest and Sequela 

You for prisoner, you bound 

To me like pebbles to their ground — 
Comes this truth out to each reasoner, 

He who prisons is a prisoner. 
I and you are bound together 

By law-Hnks, toggle-knots of truth, 
Your cold way of "wh}^" of "whether," 

Not once one warm soul of youth 
To tie us — you was to school me 

To your thinking so to rule me. 
While there now I snapped the link, 

Am free again, dare to think. 
Yet I would not be free of you ! 

Who in the world would be free of love, 
His sky where his starlight grew. 

His other self he is coming to 
High over him, always so far above 

As to prove him this life is not enough, 
Proof there 's no kingdoming like love? 

You sought to rule me by thumb and writ; 
I saw the feebleness of it, 

The littleness of what you knew 
For truth, never an atom true. 

Save that my soul was all love of you. 



There now it was May ! 

It was one sky-wonder day 
In sun-fields where they took their way, 

Like lovers do, took not a thought 
Of "why," of "wherefore- whether," 

Knew just that they were one together. 
That the what-of-it mattered not, 

Save that their thinking was bosom-wrought 



Priest and Sequela 793 

Of May-pink and love and sun 

And their young joy-life just begun. 
Priest and Priestess, they took their way! 

What nothing he had to say 
Now love had him, put him stalking, 

Showed him his soul, stopped his talking, 
Brought him squarely to his knees 

For love just, never a God to please! 
Psalmody, creed- work, or doubt 

Was small matter, was crowded out 
Of the heart of him — there he stood 

In his new kingdom-of -heaven mood, 
All love, all master, and all good, 

For now he drew her to him to say 
Love was best, he would go her way 

Of righteousness which was greater 
Than churchery or any worship-way 

Which littles to subordinate man 
Because God is God on his higher plan, 

Since man will come along later 
To be God too, to gather power 

To compass a cycle in an hour 
By great-heartedness, keen love. 

Endurance which outwearies Hell, 
Sings Night is on, sings all is well — 

There 's the God in him all enough ! 
Right in the best of their sunfield walk 

He drew a day-lily from its stalk. 
Put it in her soulfullest hand 

Which held him so at her command, 
That she might wholly understand 

His heart was there too, like the flower 
To follow her where she went. 

Her way, her supremest bent 



794 Priest and Sequela 

Above altars, only for love — 

Drew her to him again 
As a maple draws stars and rain 

Out of heaven down to each lip 
To get the yellow and silver drip — 

So she held him, too, and close 
As a bee in the lapwings of a rose — 

There they were so in soul and mind 
As to leave all else behind 

Save love, just the greatness of love — 
There was their best and all enough ! 

Then this thought in him began to grow: 
I am more than the thing I know, 

I am more than the way I go. 



GREATNESS 

Guns to their booming 
For you that are you, 

That are great, 
That can do 
The foredooming 
Of fate 
To rise to be vast vicegerent of state! 



Fires to their leaping 
For you that were born 
To the hour 
To be sworn 
To the reaping 
Of Power 
To be topmost masterful man of the hour ! 



Flags to their streaming 
For you that were grown 
To make might 
Of a throne 
By your scheming 
To fight 
For place with the stars to look down from their height. 
795 



796 Greatness 

Bells to their clinking 
For you that have brain 
To turn loss 
Into gain, 
To go thinking 
New cause 
For greatness to capture a world's applause! 

Cups to their draining 
For you that have skill 
To bend men 
To your will 
By your reigning 
To chain 
All thought to your thought by a God's domain! 

Tears to their streaming 
For one who could make 
Life a loss 
For truth's sake 
By addeeming 
His cross 
One true tree of life for no kind of loss ! 

Hearts to their clapping 
For him who shall tower 
Above mind, 
Above Power 
Or mishapping 
To find 
Great greatness is just to be true and kind ! 



EUNICE AND I 

Let me tell you, my friend, 

This life is short, 
Comes to one soon and sudden end 

Whether you swallow the truth or not, 
And men are never satisfied 

As men have lived and died. 

Soul is larger than any thought. 

Makes for more than men have sought 

Or time has wrought. 

Is so large as to never complain 

Because the limit is this brain 

Which looks and snaps and is gone again. 

There 's this pumping at my wrist, 

There 's this breath which comes and goes 
After giving the tongue a twist 

And I am feeling my way with toes 
And tentacles, as the gum-fly does — 

Soul is above such trick and fuss, 

For I am looking at the skies 

To wonder what is out beyond; 

I wonder if the moon is wise. 

Or only tramp and vagabond, 

While I puff and wonder 

At each boom of thunder, 
797 



798 Eunice and I 

Yet always I look beyond, 

I see the suns are under bond, 

I know I would not be there 

Bound as they are to blink and stare, 

To keep one way, hold my lip, 
Give a universe the slip — 

And so I think, the while my toes 
Carry me, my diaphragm goes, 

Heart kicks, bellows blows, 

— How they do it God only knows — 

I am not of them, I am out there 

Where comets climb the silver stair. 

So by this lamplight night I sit, 

Eunice is by me, 
We two are thinking of it. 

Thinking how the gadflies try me. 
How we must eat and snuff and pinch 

And this life short as a niggard inch 

And going, so we let it go — 

What if each perfect point be a sting, 
What if all earth be undertoe. 

Yet will I toss my bell and wing 
For flight and summer carolling 

And let the worm-world go. 

Hand in hand are we together 

In this perfect weather 
Of the moon 

To think of one vast forever, 
Of such a night of noon 

Which is gone so soon 



Eunice and I 799 

Because it comes again, 

Comes with the same gold feet 
To dance in my dew- field or village street, 

Pelts fire at the rain, 
Drops its yellow tunis 

On my perfect Eunice. 

A troupial ducked in his tree 

As if he would dart away 
Beyond what he could see 

Into his galaxy day 
So vast as to go unsaid, 

Like a rain of worlds overhead; 

Then the one look to his mate — 

She is there with her little young 
Where the emerald flowers are hung 

And he is fastened — he must wait, 
Give his heart up, serve out his term, 

Juggle for the crumb and worm. 

He is tied to his tree 

Just as we; 
Yet he knows he shall fly 

One day, pinnacle high; 
So let him splutter and pick 

For life — there 's soul in the trick ! 

Hand in hand, Eunice and I, 

Nought in life could unheart us 
And we looking in the infinite sky 

To find no death there — what shall part us 
When nothing stops or is gone 

So I know soul plunges on and on? 



8oo Eunice and I 

So we come down to little things, 

To life, which is short, 
To know how somehow out of it springs 

Soul which is bom and wrought 
To be great and mastrous and fond, 

Always to look to one big beyond. 



THOU SHALT NOT KILL 

Every little life to its own sweet life ! 
Dispute me that! 
Say your way is about the best 
For life for you to be coming at 
So you reap joy — devil take the rest ! 
Let slip the knife! 
Your petronel on a storm-plover 
For joy to you 
That you split him through 
To topple what little sky-shine over 
He tried to swallow, 

Leave him there dark and cold and hollow! 
Blaze your blunderbuss at a moose 
To stuff his heart with winters, 
Knock his nostrils into splinters 
To let soul out of him, stop use 
And life and Beauty, give him death — 
Why should he pull a suck of breath? 
A yaffingale in a knot of apple 
For one drink of juice 
To put parch out, stay his thrapple, 
And just because you choose 
You pin him there, shower-shotted 
Where his apple-branch is knotted 
Like defiance to you, and you listen — 
I could see your eye-laugh glisten 
, 8oi 



8o2 Thou Shalt Not Kill 

Now he dropped his pretty monody 

And you caught what low last swanody 

Was his as it died away 

To tickle your hell-heart and panther-play. 

A thrasher waltzes from bough to bough, 

You know the hop of him and how, 

But for you, he would be hopping now 

In his small forest of phillyrea 

To such heart-loaded hysteria 

Of joy I would think his trees 

Were bugles — then next came you 

Whom neither his song nor dance could please, 

So you bored his lemon bosom through — 

Even now, years after, I hear 

His last ripple just, kind and clear. 

Singing forgiveness to such as you. 

A meadow-mink looked to the sun 

To wonder, now day was done. 

What swamp-apple or moorberry she might 

Fetch her little ones over night 

As there she stood against the sun. 

While there you came with your leopard-foot 

And aimed, as if God's love might run 

Out of the thrapple of a gun — 

Now is the air as the stars are mute, 

And she comes no more where her little brood 

Waited for the mother-mood 

Which means all heaven-given good — 

Ah, I see, God made her hide 

Fur-coated to tuck you safe inside. 

You for pet best, you must be warm 

To suckle sweet, to gather power 

To lie like dew does in a flower, 

And her brood may wither in the storm ! 



Thou Shalt Not Kill 803 

Surroyal stag, strike him under, 

Since there could be never blunder 

In a universe which is God's, 

In a game of souls and sods : 

There he stands, such kind-like eye 

Turned to you I would think a man 

Could sooner choose to die 

Than crush his face. Ah, but your plan 

Of joy comes, of course, first best, 

As I said, devil take the rest 

At all cost to a scarlet ibis 

So you track him to where his tribe is 

To drink his blood, wear his wing. 

Nor mind the red riot of the thing. 

So there *s your best — so you must kill 

For joy only to tear off the features 

Of God's beautifullest Beauty-creatures 

To delight you, nor count the ill ; 

Being man at it were small matter 

So you jump to laugh and chatter — 

Being man at it could scarce count. 

Since leaps of joy make paramount. 

Which were nobler, that you drink wind 

Just to laugh a bit, have your day 

At sun licks, porgy-play 

To dilate so you may say " 

How in your time you snarled and grinned, 

Or conscience-like and in God's name 

Let others, His others, do the same? 

Being man at it is all 

You '11 get out of it, vast or small. 

Since all a man may do 

Is what he may give for kind, for true, 

To know how killing makes not a part 



8o4 Thou Shalt Not Kill 

Of his own gentle heart 

And he yield to it, keep his way 

Straight where the master fine feelings play. 

Life for just life lives on life, but oh, 

Who is there lives and loves it so? 

Being man at it is to care 

For Beauty in the thin white air 

And out of it, Beauty which is true 

Of what is first in the heart of you ; 

Being man at it is to care 

Only for what is fair, 

Nor mind your worm-world there 

Nor what rules in it, nor how men say 

"God made us, let God have his way," 

Since being man at it is to know 

Better 's to come to, ever so, 

And no completion and no rest. 

Nor place in the universe for best. 

Being man at it is to strike 

Against what is hideous-like 

To spare the songing morning shrike, 

Since more are you than this body-dike 

Through which, whatever much you seek, 

Soul gets scarce a chance to peek. 

Man at it — there 's the ring 

Puts space out, gathers wing 

To circum-circle everything. 



LOST AND FOUND 

Over beyond by my garden- wall, 

Just where 
Sun brushes against garden-pear, 

Best of all 
Was a chance that I might find her there, 

My garden-girl, and she 
Watching, perchance, for a look from me; 

Or under her basswood bough 

To sit 
To weave her thought as moonbeams knit — 

Everyhow 
I did my most to fancy her knitting 
A thought of me now 
Where her swifts were flitting; 

Over the edge of her meadow-brook 

I thought 
I could see her there as if she sought 

To have one look 
Deep in the water which would not blur 

Her image by a little stir. 
To find me there cheek to cheek with her; 

Down my long Httle alley-path 

High in phlox 
Which pointed straight to her sun-red rocks 

In aftermath 
805 



8o6 Lost and Found 

I looked to see if she could be waiting 
Where sheep and field were separating 
Now the grasses and the stars were mating; 

Or high up in the hills above 

I looked, 
Where sun-down in green gold leaf is booked, 

To find my love — 
Neither was she there when I 
Could hear the tired wind heave a sigh — 
Could she be beyond in yonder sky? 

For now so soon ago 

I found 
Her here and there through my blossom-ground 

And perfect so 
I scarce knew a way to tell 
Her cheek from pear or pimpernel — 
Do I gather now only asphodel? 

Yesterday just it seemed she stood 

By the lake 
To hear her birds their sky-way wake 

Each underwood — 
Is it so now, with all my care, 
I look for her each new noonday there 
To find she is no more anj^where? 

Right as one day I looked to See 

If she could hide 
By her grapevine wall, on the sunny side. 

If she could be 
Somewhere in playful hiding from me, 
Sudden there came the old throb and start 
Where I found her — deep in my deepest heart. 



SPIRIT 



What a peaceful way I look at things 
Now by the drop of an evening sky 

Where the crow fetches, siskin sings, 
And I go listening by. 

Or I stop to look 
If more be not there than my thinking took ; 



For, right when he stopped to stroke his wing 
Across a leaf where the dew was clear, 

His brother-mate in the branches near 
Caught up the note, begun to sing 

As I looked to try to see 
How such sireny could be. 



Ill 



The song was there in my heart at least. 
As much as rang in my two fine birds — 

We three now there cupped at our feast 
Of silver bells for words 

As this was the truth they told: 
All three of us truly arc single-souled ; 
807 



8o8 Spirit 

IV 

For are we not different, each of us three 
From the other two, each his own throat 

And lip, yet there is the unique note 
The same in them as it is in me? 

How to reason, on the whole, 
Save we are one songing longing soul? 



Do I not look, as do you and you, 
Each by his own proper eye and head, 

To capture the rounded crown of blue, 
Find knopweed purple, poppy red? 

So whatso for an eye I claim. 
Red runs red to all men all the same. 



VI 



There floats my moon on the water-breast 
For you and me, and we take it in, 

Each by an eye of another kin, 
For the same gold streak — there 's my test 

To show how, foot and nowl. 
All men make part of one parent soul. 



VII 



Are we not, then, getting together, 
More and more of each heart to each heart? 

Think if the crop-throat or silver feather 
Be not the thing that keeps us apart! 

Think how I may not see 
My love, but only her imagery 



Spirit 809 



VIII 

As there she comes and I know her not 
By what I may see to touch or hear, 

But only deep in my silent thought 
Is the heart in her so vast and clear 

As truth, which does not err, 
As soul, which I divide with her. 



IX 



Each being so that we both must miss 
Each other because the lip is there 

And shoulder-shape and elbow-snare. 
Because love is parted by a kiss, 

Do I not come to know 
Souls get together by what they grow 



Of power to weary this flesh away, 
To wear the shin out and finger-nibs, 

Beat back this conqueror-clay 
To go free of a cage of prison-ribs? 

One soul for all — so I say 
We part to get nearer together one day. 



XI 



So come away, dear, to my overflow-field 
Of mew and yellowest sunflower yield 

To trap a globird, to question not 
How you are trapped by his silver knot ; 

Hand in my hand to go, 
Let us tap the chimes the yew-birds know; 



8io Spirit 



Let us link our souls to the blossom-wind 
Which tracks, first a lily, then a fern 

Till all the sweetness be snared and pinned 
To be caught up into sky supern, 

One wind, yet many sweets, 

Each tied to each by a wind of cleats, 

XIII 

By a wind which grew them to give them life, 
Cuffed each stalk till it stood straight up, 

Put storm to the flower for elbow-strife 
To give it a zip and pretty cup 

Of fragrancy worth taking 
Above mud-lap and mere flower-making. 

XIV 

That way I fairly fancy I know 
Soul is — one universal sea 

Of Power to come this way and go, 
Having made the most of you and me 

To waft us on our way 
To new other kinds of field and day. 



As wholly deep in your eyes I read, 
As deep in the talking stars I look. 

Nought is there save one scanty screed. 
Or loose type, not the printed book ; 

Just as each longing kiss 
Stops at the lips — the soul I miss. 



spirit 



8ii 



XVI 

The blue long vein of elbow-breach 
Or July cheek are between us two, 

Each holds the other out of reach 
And I have only the least of you ; 

Each one to his tether! 
Lo, we must die to get together! 



So come away, dear, have not a care. 
Life is short because soul is fair 

Which waits for us in the yonder there ! 
Away to my meadow of flowers, 

Away on the wings of the hours, 
Life is so short because soul is so fair. 



WAITING 

At her gate, 

Now the hour was late — 

It was such an afternoon 

As puts the thought of a man in tune — 

At her gate I was leaning only to say 

All I had said in another way 

Many times on many a day 

Of just such a boon 

Of afternoon. 

Said I so: 

I come and I go, 

My whole tale of love you know, 

Yet have you been counselling the years 

To bear my hopes off, but to leave me my fears, 

Have kept me waiting only to say 

You might think of me one day 

Of another year 

Away from here. 

So I said. 

That last day I stood 
Where your columbine was red 
And I was pale as your satin snood, 
So I said I could wait, for I knew beside 
How nought in the world has ever died, 
Knew, too, there would come a day, 
Not so far away, 
When you would say 
812 



Waiting 813 

I was right 

To keep to my way 

Of uppermost spirit-light 

Nor hark to what the world had to say ! 

You saw I was true to my soul-shapen thoughts, 

I piqued your world of gravies and pots, 

Tongue-licks of leathcrly sots 

Who dig to make room 

In pit and doom. 

Your one thought 

From morning to noon 

Was how the world could be bought. 

Was how you could spin a rigadoon. 

Train a bonnet to sprout like a garden-plot, 

Fly to a needle to point you great. 

Any man most for a mate 

So he loved in you 

The swish and blue. 

You were young, 

So I saw at start. 

Easily everyway swung 

Beyond the paddock of soul and heart 

To jump your way in the world like a filly 

In a rye-patch, fly loose and silly, 

Bounding only to be caught, 

And it mattered not 

The end you wrought. 

Yet I said ; 

I hold to my view. 

And whether living or dead, 

I put my trust in the soul in you — 



8 14 Waiting 

For underneath it ail were for me to see 
Tricks and fingers of Divinity 
Working for what or what not 
So that power be caught, 
Soul be wrought. 

You were young, 

Life crouched for a leap 

Of joy just to sow and reap 

The pigeon-pleasures of lip and tongue, 

While I was well along on the road ahead, 

Such things for me were crippled or dead — 

Is it, then, mere flesh instead 

Shall hold us apart 

In soul and heart? 

That last day 

I stood in your gate 

I loved you my honest way, 

And love is never early nor late, 

And I love you now as I loved you then, 

'Though I am come to another land 

Of other ways, different men 

To understand 

Than I knew then. 

Once in life, 

As I meant it then, 

I was to see you again. 

And you were to be my perfect wife — 

That last summer day when I stood in }-our gate. 

Saw you beginning to hesitate, 

How could I have guessed it then, 

My lot among men 

Never again 



Waiting 815 

To see you 

As I saw you there 

In sun-rings and amber hair 

And eyes as a heaven of endless blue 

Trying in vain to match heavenly looks with you, 

I for never once and nevermore 

To have you so as before, 

To know you again 

As there and then. 

Once I went 

My way from your gate 

It was as if I were sent 

To get the clutch of an ugly fate. 

While now I can see the thing all as it is, 

Nothing once ever made to miss 

Which soul wants — and I want you 

For best and for true 

And forever too. 

Now I know 

Your love of me so. 

For yonder there where they laid 

My poor part down in the willow-shade 

I saw you how softly you knelt and stayed, 

Dropping your bay-leaves and gentle tears 

Where the moon looks, kildee hears, 

Where the night-sweet leaks, 

Bobolink peeks. 

Now I know 

Tears are not to shed 

Just because you saw me go, 

So thought I was lost and surely dead ! 



8i6 Waiting 

What in the galaxy-fields is to fear 
When a whole sun is tucked in a tear, 
One skyful never the whole 
Of a single soul 
Of joy and dole? 

So you grew, 

And I never think 

How the world will go with you 

And life but a puff and thistle's wink, 

For there is your purposeful destiny 

To make for power to come unto me, 

While I am waiting for you. 

As the sky- worlds do. 

In gold and blue. 



A SKY WORD 

Her hand, tangled now in my hair 

As I lay at her train, 
Reached to clutch at a care 

Which tapped sharp at my brain, 
Till one half-closed eyelid of the blind 
Let dark slip out — the moon behind 
Struck the floor 
As before. 

I lay in her train at her feet. 

Put these hands to her face 
Which I held — love is never complete — 

For a look of her grace, 
Held her face in two hands, held it fast 
Till this throb of my brain should be past — 
Would the moon 
Leave us soon? 

Her hair poured down to her shoulder-edge, 

Bounded off and fell 
Like a cataract over a marble ledge 

Till I bathed in the swell 
Where it tumbled to rumble about, 
Where it splashed to dash at a doubt 
Which held fast 
To her past. 
817 



8i8 A Sky Word 

The Count was a handsome man at most ; 

Rapped the flags with his stick 
To make conversation — no time lost, 

Flags answer quick; 
Decked like a sheldrake, plume in crest; 
Fine legs, round legs, all legs at his best, 
Was the plan 
Of the man. 

Women he knew, all women he knew; 

Man-minded or weak 
Could want for no master — he would do, 

He had only to speak ; 
She should obey him, love his command, 
Coo to wince like a squab in his hand 
Which pants 
At a glance. 

Women long for a master, he said, 

One to fear and hate. 
To follow after if love be dead, 

A strong arm for a mate; 
Kind at times only — they understand 
Who pin their souls to an iron hand ! 
So he schooled 
As he ruled. 

She was the slave of him first to last 

To each nod of his will; 
He was the shadow against her past 

As it elbowed her still. 
Saying: See you make him love you. 
The boy there who flutters above you! 
Clip his wings 
As he sings. 



A Sky Word 819 

And so on — so galloped care in my brain 

As I lay at her feet 
Shrinking for thinking what 's to gain 

'Though her promise be sweet ! 
How should I trust her? — the Count was there — 
— Her hand was his hand stroking my hair — 
Every whim 
Was of him. 

Idle fool-fears — the spell was cold 

He cast about her; 
My crop of faith was young, was bold, 

Too large to doubt her ; 
Her love, too, would kindle in return 
— Earth once ablaze and the sky will burn — 
And be true, 
That I knew. 

One wondrous portrait hung at her wall, 

A face full of care; 
The rut of the mind-moth was over it all, 

Whole hell-pits were there; 
Such face so young, so full of care 
Soul seemed to go and come again there 
In its stall 
In the wall. 

The eyes stood bounden to look at space 

From soul which was gone; 
Death dropped a white veil over the face, 

White as sk}' is at dawn; 
One round small spot at the temple said 
Soul too is white 'though the heart be red 
To a streak 
Down the cheek. 



820 A Sky Word 

Poor boy, she lassoed him as well 
Till he writhed in her noose, 
While the Count tipped a light on the way to hell 

For the sweet lad to choose 
To end his sentence of life unsaid 
By one small deep period, round and red. 
Folly drops 
Where it stops. 

True — but he was of small amount 

To play great at such game; 
Knew not the trick to supplant the Count, 

To snuff out the flame; 
There 's danger to play where souls are odds, 
For then a main must deal to the Gods, 
Take a stand, 
Show his hand. 

Her rug at her feet lay thin and old 

Till the moon's small beams 
New-knit it into a cloth of gold. 

One end of her dreams; 
The Count was poor, the place was old 
Till my moon now spread out her lap of gold 
For a thought 
To be caught. 

Night's high queen grew pale, now dawn 

Made signs of a sun. 
Her rival foe in a fight for morn 

Since Heaven begun, 
Let drop one snow-light out of a cloud — 
Now turned the red rug white as a shroud 
Lately spread 
For the dead. 



A Sky Word 821 

Gold in a shroud ! — a word out of skies : 

Be man once again, 
For there your top of endeavor Hes: 

All profit is vain. 
Well — daylight swept up my dark once more; 
There I lay at her train on the floor; 
But the care 
Was not there. 

You may have her, Count, with all your might; 

Your trick failed to work; 
I slipped my neck from your noose to-night, 

So put up your dirk ! 
But I shall have left my heart with her, 
My only way I could part with her — 
There 's the shame 
Of the game! 



WORSHIP VERSUS LOVE 

I KNEEL at the lavender lap 

Of my love this day 

In a crouching way, 
Catch at her glove and satin wrap, 

Much as to say: 
"You are better than I in a spirit- way, 
Noble far more, stronger heart 
And majesty, yet my counterpart. 

"So I look up — instead 

Of neck-stiff I bend the head 

As you see me now — 

There 's my alder-bough 
Nods at the sun to show me how — 

Fully am I content 
To press my lips where the arm is bent 
For very worshipful wonderment. 

"Here at my knees 
My heart to fill, my Goddess to please, 
And what has this pie-life more than these? 

Do I not know 
You love it and God wants it so 

That I shall bend my knee 
To Power so I come to be 
Slavish cub-truckling subserviency?" 
822 



Worship versus Love 823 

Not to stop there, I took 

Wider range, loftier look 
Straight to where 
In mountain sweep of emerald air 

I could build temple to her there 
Of sky-roof and copper flower 

Of magic-handed Thessaly, 

So she should hearken royally 
To my praise of her belle-perfect power. . 

Up I clomb in my mountain high, 
Just under the sky, 
Collared my pines 
In columbines, 
Knitted my pillar-bars 
Of the shooting stars, 
Built me my altar there 
Of crowfoot stair, 

Of corchorus, pimpernels — 
Anemone I hung for bells, 
Thistles for their honey-cells — 
'Round the crystal rock ' 

Flew fire-crest and hollyhock — 
In among the bays 
I tuned my lays 
Till the jay joined in and rang his praise. 

There she should hark to gaze 

At Vesper-hour 
To my altar-praise 
Of her gentle power, 
Of her lilac-ways — 



824 Worship versus Love 

There I shovild bend the knee 

For prayer and glee 
To hold her high and to smallen me. 

Am I not right, not wise 
To make of me any sacrifice 
■ To draw love out of her closet-eyes? 

Shall a man do less 
Than humble him before almightiness? 
, Has he another choice 

Now Aphrodite lifts her voice 
To put his heart bounding to rejoice? 

So as I got my altar fixed, 

Lilac and swallow and jasper mixed, 

There I tempted her up 

To listen to my altar-song. 

Pass me my humble-cup, 

See me bend to belong 

To her, watch me worship and snivel 

To show the slavishness of a weevil. 

"Ah no, not so," she said, 
"Never you bend knee or head 
Or man-shape which is you — 
Heart up, head up too! 
Nought of a man is fair. 
What love soever he may share. 
If the king in him be not there — 
Hold to the man and most in you ! 

' ' Think you I like 
The homage of a shrike 
And not his master-song 
He pipes for sweet and strong, 



Worship versus Love 825 

Never a note of right or wrong 

Or duty, 
Only his love of Beauty 
The fine day long? 

"Think you you put me great 

Or higher 
By so much as you underrate 
Your own masterful desire 
For self-made self-supremacy 
Of power to do, to be. 
And not an upward look to me? 

Blow you the breath of charm 

In your psalming qualm? 

"Is it an atom true 

Man is noblest to limp and cringe? 

Am I to fatten on your twinge, 

Lord-Goddess it over you? 

Have a thought of this : 

Power was never meant to miss ; 

Have a hand at it too 
To pocket Power— there 's the God in you! 



"As for me, your love 

Is worship enough ; 
As for you, 

Your royallest plan 

Is that you be man 
Unmastered, independent-true 
To your own cop-top loftiness. 
Be the might of it more or less. 



826 Worship versus Love 

"As for your worship — 
Knee-kink, twisted lip, 

Folded palm, 

Cold-minded shalm, 

Cold-hearted psalm — 
Pace the sun-spaces through, 
What worship of a Kickapoo 
Like your love of me and my love of you?' 



SPIRIT BEAUTY 

There *s a Beauty comes and goes 

Twice as fine 
As the perfume of the snows, 
As heart-beats of a vine, 
Like a cunning other sense 
So I may not tell from whence 
The blessing blows, 

Only this, 
The sign was never meant to miss. 
Sweet as a breath of Salamis. 

Yonder in drowsy hill 
Where the bubble-play 

And virelay 
Of vireo are still, 
Yonder I look to see 
What early morning threnody 

Once was there. 
Swallows in chuckling air. 
Sheep without a keeper's care, 

As comes to me 

My thought of their pretty days 

Long ago. 
Their song-bush and pigeon-ways, 
Pipe-up in copper glow — 
827 



828 Spirit Beauty 



There I saw them pitch and dance, 
Take their turn at lofty chance, 

And now I know, 

As I think, 
I see them at yonder river-brink. 
Thrush and peep and meadowink — 

Another river, 
Nought I saw or thought of ever — 
Quamoclit, quince blossom 
Shot new other surcles, 

Witchwolf, opossum 
Knit moon-leaves into circles. 
Breathed new cerulean fire 
To quench their soul-desire. 

And I thought 
Not what is there, but what is there not? 

There 's a Beauty comes and goes 

Like a thought, 
And I wonder if it grows 
In another garden-plot 
Than the garden once I knew 
Where I wondered, as I grew, 
What an amaranthus shows, 

If it brings 
Messages of finer things 
Where deeper Beauty sports and sings, 

For thereso as a boy 

I knew an elegant pea-flower stalk 

To tuck a bud up to decoy 

My heart to tune and talk — 



Spirit Beauty 829 

Now are daffodil 
And yellow other flowers, 
Yet, odd enough, right by me still 
Through heavy-minded hours 
Springs my pea-flower now to train 
And rollick in my heart again. 

Just so as happy boy 

I could see 

Each green cheek of pomeroy 

Or treacle of a bee 
Was all the world to be got, 
Or I should have missed my lot — 

Yet stays now this one joy 
Fast in me: 
Gone are they all. Nonesuch and bee. 
Yet left their sweet in the soul of me. 

I think that he is gone. 
My friend there of hope and doubt. 
Because I see him no more about 
By evening, by belamy dawn — 
Soon my heart begins to tick 

To mind me he is there 

In the spirit-quick 

For lasting fair 
Like nothing he could have been 

In pulp and spleen. 

Once I saw a meadow 

Play with moon and shadow 

Which danced about one tulip-tree 

So their gilded feet were sent 

Helter-skelter-fuUy bent 

On black and yellow symmetry 



830 spirit Beauty 

Like bees in honey-cells to cheat 
Sassafras-field of every sweet- 
How now just one homing bee 
Brings my lost meadowsweet back to me ! 

Far over the hills I look 

And I see 
Horizon-sky like an open book 
As I wonder what can be 
Onward in such endless thence, 
Or I dream of where and whence 
Soul comes, while I look 

And I see 
Surely one little place for me 
In yonder bright bold eternity, 

For, now I look within, 
I see 
More than chance, more than cherubin. 
No such thing as all of me, 
Nor one final consummate feat 
Where I am done, where soul is complete- 
So now once more 
I will say 
Soul takes one boundless Beauty-way, 
Always another other day 

Of silver wing in sycamore, 

I the autumn-spring 
Of endless new other blossoming 

Forevermore. 
So comes there straight unto me, 
When Power about tries to undo me, 
A breath of endless Beauty through me 



Spirit Beauty 831 

To show- 
Spirit hovers to come and go 
The same way so. 

There 's the Beauty comes and goes 

Twice as fine 
As the perfume of the snows — 
Who is there to divine 
How it comes, why it goes? 
Wiser he who never knows, 

Save only how 

Here and now 
Lightly should rest your care 
When Beauty is everything everywhere. 



CLASPING THE ROSES 

Here was a man in a garden fell, 
Too much clasping of roses there ; 
A last thing I heard was the tap of his knell 

At the village bell; 
What will you say, shall his sepulchre close 

On the blood-spotted rose? 

Here was a hall in a castle bright, 
Torches flashed to one last pale end, 
Mottled the walls in yellow and white 

Through shadows to blight 
Red-spattered spots on pillars of gold — 

Love was bought there and sold. 

Carnival night and moons were out, 
As many moons in the dome as suns ; 
Each maid kept her hero-boy about 

To play guard or scout; 
Straight knights in steel armor of mirror-sides 

To glass-prison their brides. 

Top of a hill their castle ran out 

In rills of music, over a plain. 

Each waked-up meadowink caught in rout 

To scatter about — 
The best of bassoon and drums was gone, 

Yet the dancing went on. 
832 



Clasping the Roses 833 

Each maid a white rose wore at her breast 
To speak such silence as she would have kept 
Who gave her word, her soul and the rest 

To her one man best; 
How quick a maid's heart drops out of sight 

And you mention her knight ! 

Out to the banquet-hall in a wing 

Of his wild-eyed castle snapping fire 

The Duke sailed forth with each rose and its sting 

To stand in a ring 
Of all the sweet girls snuggled about — 

Their knights were left out. 

To their round white arms from elbow up 
He drank ; drank to their locks, their lips, 
Tempted them now to double their sup 

From his own gold cup 
Till the red old wine with its fine old freaks 

Put its palms to their cheeks. 

The Duke took hint to follow suit, 
Kissed and clasped them close to his neck, 
Where he reveled to reel to wine and lute — 

The castle was mute. 
Till one hundred knights hurled their spears at his door — 

They could harken no more. 

So said the Duke to them, boldly said: 
Which of you now will become my bride? 
For mark, ere another sun I shall wed, 

Or dream with the dead ; 
There their bold battle-axe clicks at the gate, 

And the hour is late ! 



834 Clasping the Roses 

Quick speak — which of you gives her hand? 
She who speaks first shall be all my queen; 
Am I not almighty Duke in the land? 

She too shall be grand. 
I love you all, so will wed her on sight 

Who abandons her knight. 

Quick flew one fairest out of the flock 
To pick a nest at the Duke's right side 
To whisper "Only a vine 'round a rock, 

And they all may mock. 
But I will wed thee this very night 

To be Duchess by right ! " 

Nor sooner said than the steel great gate 

Burst open where one spit gave way 

To one hundred and one men of war, of fate 

Which is never late — 
Knights of new swords flashed thirsting to thrust 

A Duke's blood into rust. 

The Duke cuffed swords with her honest knight 

Till two long blades rang from pit to dome. 

Sputtered fire to match stars with such ill-starred night, 

Spit blood left and right — 
Only she remained to lower the Duke's head. 

Who was left to the dead. 

She too must go ; such burden was great ; 
Too great to bear in the long round run, 
For between her two men she lost a mate. 

Tricked her own fate, 
So fell on the Duke's sword, went his way; 

So much guilt could not stay. 



Clasping the Roses 835 

Here was a man in a garden fell, 

Too much clasping of roses there; 

A last thing I heard was the tap of his knell 

At the village bell; 
What will you say, shall his sepulchre close 

On the blood-spotted rose? 

Here was a rose in a garden cropped, 

Bent its white lip to the white cold hand ; 

A last thing I saw was the stem where it stopped, 

The grave where it dropped; 
Like follows like as the hour-sands close 

O'er the man and the rose. 



SEMPER SUPRA 



Keep a hand at it to putter 

To fish moons out of a gutter — 
Nose at an atom to see 

If the thing be not 
Just the thing you thought, 

A twist of pulp and alchemy — 
Poke in a mud- worm's eye 

To see if soul must die, 
If thinking and bosom squirm 

In the gut-works of a worm ! 
For me the round blue vault 

Of picture for not a fault — 
As for your wormy pistareen 

Postmortem of a carrageen 
To see if God has a knee or spleen, 

Better you call a halt 
To have one look to the planet-vault 

In lemon and red, 
Put like a crown on you overhead, 

So far, so fair, you know 
God 's in the moons whether or no 

You prick at a star to prove it so. 



Cast an eye at yonder stork 

To see how he grew a feather 
836 



Semper Supra 837 

To put battle to any weather — 

Look now to the auk, 
Find how he forgot to walk, 

Forgot to fly, so lost his wing 
And perished in the polar spring — 

See if the beetle-fly could size 
An atom with his thousand eyes 

To get a paltry atom wise — 
Better by much I knew 

A way to look the spaces through 
Into eternal beautiful blue 

Than I thresh at pigmy- work with you. 



Rip up the diaphragm of a miller. 

You blood and Beauty-spiller, 
Have a care to fork his nose, 

Play microscopy at his toes 
To see how spirit balks and goes — 

Spit his ribs, tap his back 
To get a hand in at the knack 

Of finding out wha^ God may lack- 
For me, give me his wing 

Of London-smoke-red frescoing 
To fly to show his opal ring. 



IV 



Strip a rain-wrasse of his hide 
And his pretty pride 

To see if under his skin 
A little mind-light squeezeth in — 

Stick to your trick of doubt, 
Never you look about 



838 Semper Supra 

For his pink spots in thistle-blue 
Looking like all eyes to you 

That would darken and split him through, 
Most as my little Alley-Bub 

Who tires of his rub-a-dub, 
So snaps the snares, breaks his drum 

To know where the music bubbles from. 



Send one look to the roundabout 

Hemisphere of gifted light : 
There 's blue for you as well as sight — 

Why rush you in to doubt, 
To put the Beauty in it to rout 

For sake only of finding out 
If God is or God is n't 

To be handicapped or prisoned? 
There 's such warmness waiting there 

In the caressing air. 
Perfume of sun and flower 

In each tapestried hour, 
Memory of every past 

Which holds you fast, 
The one fine face of the lost fine friend 

Cheek to cheek with you till the end, 
Your lilac-branch which drops you pearls 

Rounded as Orion curls. 
All for you, you the fountain-spring 

'Round which swift and lintie sing 
To silver and dip their wing — 

Have not a care if you may not know 
How pill-corn and poppy blow, 

You the masterfullest thing 



Semper Supra 839 

'Round which all the bold worlds swing 
For you to capture on the wing! — 

Keats knew it and told you so, 
Beauty is all ye need to know. 



DOLLAR-FOOT FARM 

Crop-autumn time was then 

At Farmville, 

Each old mill 

Was new-painted an old streak, 

Each pen 

Showed hungry and open beak 

For pash-work in new grain 

Now autumn-sweet time was come again. 

Cyrus Sorgonyon was village-beau — 

Little went 

For feathers but he should show, 

Little meant 

Each look of him save to capture 

A girl or two, 

Bring them to peaks of rapture 

The way he knew 

As Cap-Handler, Sir Merry-Much, 
Cardinal Sun-Smiler — 
Not another such 
Could you find for rare beguiler — 
So sure he was he could have his way 
For mastery, play fast and loose 
With Beauty, there was vast excuse 
For slipping into his lasso-noose. 
840 



Dollar-Foot Farm 841 

So, when came his time to wed, 

He had only to say 

The word — a little pheasant-play, 

A lift of the wing, duck of the head, 

And what should a girl but take 

Cyrus Sorgonyon, to see him jut 

From church by his master magic-strut. 

Foot forward for her sake? 

Not for love — there was his law 

Of marriage — yellow gold 

Made an eyeful worth playing for. 

The game was old. 

While as for love. 

He argued there would be enough 

In her love of him — small need that he 

Love too — 't were poor economy ! 

Dollar-Foot Farm, which was now 

Farm-royal in the place about, 

Knew one mistress who should bow 

To none — past any doubt 

She was bright and fair 

As new dew dartles in maidenhair, 

But what was more to the rounded pitch 

She was rich, she was farm-royal rich! 

Mistress of Dollar-Foot Farm — 
There was her masterful charm 
For Cyrus — he was clever, he knew 
A breath to puff, a thing to do 
Better than love and toiling 
For love — good men were spoiling 
For want of a farm 
And prop and a little dollar-balm. 



842 Dollar-Foot Farm 

Gentle she was and shy 

As a linnet in a bunch of quick, 

So locked his image in each eye, 

Would not look once to see him click 

The plank walk, heel and toe. 

Looked elseways as if she did not know 

His step or shoulder-roll, 

And his face there fast in her very soul. 

'T was one sky-kingdom night — they stood 

Face to face, one spar-ledge leaned 

Against the moon through her cedar-wood 

Where they stood. 

So now his look was screened 

As he would have it, her face put square 

To the moon for twenty times as fair 

As the round gold heaven which sported there. 

So shadowed, he could tell her straight 

His love-lie, so told her this: 

He would, by Heaven, sooner miss 

His chance of Heaven, take a beetle's fate 

Than not have her for love, for mate. 

Now she listened and loved and sighed 

As he lied — her eyes burned open wide 

As he lied — oh, how he lied ! 

Next came the pretty village-bells, 

Rice-day, flower-shower of pimpernels 

And quickset — all the people 

Ducked under the church-steeple 

To see her new tuck-back in yellow streak, 

See heart come and go in her cheek, 

And Cyrus for Prince of State 

In sulphur waistcoat to mark him great! 



Dollar-Foot rarm 843 

Peace they lived in, till one day- 
Came a voice to tell 
How he married her for pay 
In land and citadel, 
And no love for her, no care 
For the curlew eye, willow hair, 
Sweet soul, which was his too 
For little he thought of it or knew. 

Now she loved him in spite of this; 
What wild waywardness love is! 
Loved him for the poverty part 
He so played in his game of heart, 
Pity for him that he 
Should small so as not to see 
Her soulfulness closeted more charm 
Than citadel could or any farm. 

Since he married her for land, 

Not for her heart and hand, 

Plainly she spoke him this: Since he thought 

More of onion and pumpkin-plot 

Than love, her love and soul, 

He should have it, have the whole 

Farm-royal to make him glad. 

Her birthright and all she had 

Save herself, since her love 

Was more for him now she knew 

How he was weak, how the world was rough 

And she strong, how she could do 

Without gold, how he could not — 

She sorrowed for his pauper-lot 

That he must lose her — she saw 

How small was his gain he lost her for. 



844 Dollar-Foot Farm 

Her Dollar- Foot Farm and gold, 

Which she gave him to have and to hold 

For sole master — all was done 

In a day — then night 

Came to put out the light 

Her heart held and she was gone, 

She with her whole woman-life 

Meant to be mother and wondrous wife. 

See now what little power 

Man is when face to love : 

Scarce was she gone an hour 

When over and above 

His whole possessions was her star 

Clear to him now for cinnabar, 

Olive, melon-marigold, 

But high-fixed out of his hope or hold. 

Field and meadow seemed now not much 

More than bone-builders — thin prop. 

Like a single naked crutch. 

Each step of it a full stop 

And she gone — now was his love 

Roused in him to the hot puff 

And no dodging — he could see his cross: 

Soul afire, love at first loss. 

Next then to capture her — 

Each fibre in him took tug, 

His whole soul began to stir 

The very heart in him to hug 

The blood up as if it knew 

He was free, knew somewhat new 

Peopled him, made him manful-true, 

Unfoibled him, mastered him too. 



Dollar-Foot Farm 845 

Came a new night like the first, 
By the same ledge they stood 
At an angle of the wood, 
Came the same concord-burst 
Of moonlight — not now 
Was any shadow at his brow, 
Nor boot-and-button pride, 
Nor lies, nor anything to hide, 

But heart to show — not a word 

Nor whisper of him could be heard. 

Nor power was in him to speak — 

Where the moon was playing, right there 

His lips were tangled in her hair. 

Knotted to each cheek, 

While there her rich new whited arm 

Coiled a whole heart 'round him, held each palm 

Fast to his face, held him close 

Where her deep dew-eyes flashed and played 

Their fountains of soul, lips open laid 

For him to pluck, his vSharon rose — 

So he mellowed in her light, 

Her mightiness of love and right 

Which wins ever. So much for your gold 

Men heap up to trip over — a tale twice told! 



INCOGNITO 

Poor fellow, I wonder how he died, 

Or when or where ; 
I wonder, too, if any northwind sighed 

To find him there ; 
Or leaped once to lend him of a breath 
That he might try to plead an hour with death ! 

I saw him first in your crowded street, 

Years long ago. 
As I slipped to plunge beyond these feet 

In silky snow 
To land me straight in his open arms 
Till I might reach to grope and hold his palms. 

After days I chanced to meet him 

Oft in a while 
Where wheels put by — meet to greet him, 

Catch his smile; 
Some few thin thoughts, if an hour allowed, 
As so, one day, I lost him in the crowd. 

No part I knew of his either name, 

Place or trend; 
Always to me he was the same, 

My unknown friend; 
Stronger than lions, such gentle mind, 
Who seemed to have left the world behind. 
846 



Incognito 847 



Said he once, "Such hours are long 

As tap for me; 
I seem waiting in your throng 

To try to see 
If they will need me in any near, 
As, may be so, I 'm not wanted here. 

"Other moods of other souls than mine 

May try the race; 
Yet there be souls cast so true, so fine 

For not a trace 
Of what has made them sweet or fair, 
The flower and not the stalk is there. 

"I was not to profit of this earth, 

To crush, to thrust; 
I take your world for what it is worth 

Because I must. 
As, too, I know beyond all this 
Soul must come to count for what it is." 

Sadness crowded into his face, 

Unprinted book 
To write all thought out and not a trace! 

One vacant look 
Put up to smother some written scroll 
More times tells secrets of the soul. 

So I lost him — he went his way, 

No great way off, 
Where I must follow one short clear day, 

All soon enough ; 
But how I would have caught his knell 
To put, in turn, these arms out where he fell! 



848 Incognito 



Such soul was his as is no more seen 

Where streets arc dull, 
Nor yet about your yellow ivy green 

Whose throat is full ; 
Some superfineness left such trace 
As touched to mark him higher than his race. 

How I shall find him, or when or where, 

I may not know; 
Only his laurel whispers to the air 

"It must be so"; 
Yet this I know, the south-wind sighed, 
Then stooped to kiss his eyelids when he died. 



CLAUDIA 

Oh, my brothers, Right is Power, 
Power to take any flight, 

Just as wings are part of an hour — 
Dark has holes in which to cower, 

All space is one throne of light. 

I come or I go 

By wall-moss, filigree-snow. 
In among my meadows. 

Out between my corn, 
So I thumb the shadows 

To see how they are born: 
Shadows end where they begun, 

Only little shapes of sun. 

I have a way of knowing 

What way I must go 
If I would take to growing 

More than thumb or toe, 
If I would master music 

As I master grass 
So to get the true trick 

Of pointing which it has. 
If I would fling my thought 

Into blazing skies. 
Pluck at Melilot 

For its yellow eyes, 
849 



850 Claudia 



Pluck the Bergamot 

For his shape and dyes, 
If I would see my gong-bird seize 

At spaces to get more than these, 
Hang his bells in the dancing breeze. 

I do the right thing 

Under trampling years 
By persevering 

Beyond kicks and tears, 
Now to help my fellow, 

Now to ruin wrong, 
To turn the hard heart mellow 

By a look or song — 
Am I not more than once I was 

By one lordly law of cause? 

I make my way by might 

Of what is true in me 
As each star punctures his night 

By sovereignty 
Of straight going 

And fine showing 
To split eons through, 

Table yellowness or blue; 
I make my way by force 

Of what is fine in me — 
Shall fineness seek divorce 

From divinity? 

Do I not gather power 

As I go rightly along, 
All as this almond flower 

To stand true and strong 



Claudia 851 

Against striking shower, 

To fight my way 
Into magic bower, 

Supernaculum day, 
To steal the pink and cinnabar, 

Steal the split and wink 
Of yonder star? 

So by the Right I do, 

By the Good I am, 
By the Truth I strew 

To unmaster sham, 
By what kind fine heart 

I have in hand 
To play my part. 

To take my stand 
Against champion cheat 

Or what is small. 
To grow what is sweet 

And true and tall, 
I gather to me power 

Out of all space, 
Soul out of each hour, 

Frame out of every place, 
Just as this Tokay-flower 

Will mantle so high 
To get the sea-green shower 

And poppy dye, 
Capture sweet and fire and power 

Out of every sky? 

"Ah," but I hear you say, 

Claudia has not come your way; 

She for whom you wait 
Is a life-time late, 



852 Claudia 

While you are passing on, 

Half your life is gone 
And Claudia may not be born ! 

What of your boasted gift 
To gather Power by the way? 

What of your trick of thrift 
If you forfeit half your pay? 

What of the good in you 
For the good you do, 

Your life whittled true and through ?- 
Claudia has not come your way!" 

This in reply I hold : 

Man is not great 
By his pile of gold 

Which will compensate 
His labor and cold. 

Not great by what he counts 
For purposes of gain. 

But only by what he surmounts 
To let his soul-part reign 

For only love of Right 
Which is Beauty so far 

Beyond his plug of sight 
Or his lucky star 

As to poise uncomputed fair 
Beyond blue zenith or white air, 

Supra-solar heart in lieu 
Of French rose or upland dew, 

One pure nameless Beauty in view. 

Now I know I shall see her; 

By such reason I know 
She is 'round me and near 

Any way I may go; 



Claudia S53 

For out there is her form, 

In my heart she is kept, 
So what care I if storm 

Has threshed or slept, 
Or when I shall have her to hold — 

Comes endless time ever late, 
Grows the soul ever old. 

Am I to lose my mate 
While I gain ground and gold 

To sputter my puny breath, 
Live only to prepare for death 

And nothing? — Behold, what a look. 
Life one little laughing puke ! 

Just now as I was musing 

I looked out over my lawn 
Where the melon-fly is cruising 

Now his raisins are in pawn, 
While I watch him take his run 

Between leaves for a trick, 
Whip the dew up just to glisten. 

Draw his bow so I can listen. 
Fetch the Sharon rose a lick, 

Pick his mate there in the sun, 
All so sumptuously done. 

Yet I am to peter out. 

Measure purpose with his snout. 
Lay me down where he lies. 

Copy him his way he dies, 
My soul meant to banquet flies! 

He had his day and plump ; 
You saw him fan and pump. 

Take his folly-jolly jump. 



854 Claudia 



Hang him to a Concord-leaf 

To get the whisper of sweet relief, 
Pack his keg in honey, 

Climb his pole of agrimony 
To fatten between the wings — 

So he tickles and sings! 

He has had his day. 

All he could see to think; 
He made his best display, 

His ellipses of blossom-link, 
Followed his pumping-bent. 

Kept his swinish sentiment, 
Galloped in moonlight haunts. 

Took the orchid for his jaunts, 
Saturated all his wants — 

Just his wing of purple ink 
Soared as high as he could think. 

'Tis otherways with me: 

I have a thing to do 
Not measured by your shoe ; 

I have a scope to see 
And a vast to think 

Not closeted by a wink — 
I reckon with eternity ! 

He is satisfied with lips 
The while I am not; 

He likes to die where he dips 
In his treacle-pot ; 

I am satisfied with nought 
Of this life I see. 

Save that soul is wrought 
Of supremity 



Claudia 855 

And I 'm to become supreme — 
There 's my supra-solar dream ! 

My fly has had his day 

His pot-slop way; 
He sang and feasted at play 

Among sun-ambulations. 
Found his field of destinations 

Meant rich crops of limitations, 
And he is happy to know 

Cunning nature made him so 
He learns to tumble and swim, 

Learns the worth of wind and limb, 
So now that his flight is eased. 

Each wild hunger is appeased, 
He is overmostly pleased, 

Tickled if only he snuffed and sneezed. 

But how runs life with me? 

I have such crop of want 
As demands immensity, 

More than moonlight haunt, 
More than eye shall see, 

More than fingers shall pick, 
More than your philosophy, 

More than your molasses-lick. 
Life has glutted his beak. 

My fly in his melon-house, 
Petted each tiny freak. 

Furnished him palace and spouse; 
Champak leaves he has for dippers. 

Little velvet flowers for slippers. 
Puffs of aroma wind for breath 

To soothe him if he languisheth 



856 Claudia 



In his lap of edelweiss, 

Such kind sky to close his eyes 
He never knows he dies. 

What could he see of Right? 

What should he learn of Wrong? 
His was the pinky light, 

Rubadub song, 
Parabola flight 

All the day long 
In his forest of dock 

With measured swing 
And ting-a-ling 

Like a drowsy clock. 

Am I not more than he, 

I with my wrong and right, 
I that have more to be, 

Have eternity in sight 
To compass what there is 

In store for me 
Because I know there 's this 

Much more of me 
Than I may get out of drupe, 

Out of moon or lake 
Or cauliflower cake 

Or spring with its music-troop? 

Yet is he feasted full, 

This my melon-fly. 
Took his longest pull 

In his waves of rye, 
Made the most he could 

Of all he had, 



Claudia 857 



Just his pigging-mood 

To be full and glad 
Of a flower or breeze 

Just to take his ease 
According to his size, 

Scatter as the pollen flies — 
So he snuggles and dies. 

Yet has he done his most 

Before he comes to die, 
Whether he be made of ghost 

Or only of paste and dye; 
He flew his highest. 

Reached his deepest, 
Drank his dryest, 

Clomb his steepest, 
Filled him bumper-full 

As his April pool. 
Fetched his wing a swish 

Above any damper, 
Never knew the wish 

He could not pamper; 
Died, and he never knew 

He was meant to die 
More than my bolbonacs do 

Where they parch and sigh. 

Man is of other stuff — 

I know that I am I ; 
Belly is never enough, 

Life will never satisfy; 
In spite of all I do 

Which is heartful-true, 
More there is of me to be 

Once to be the whole of me, 



858 Claudia 

More there is that I shall do, 
More for me to widen to 

To throw my keenest spark of blue 
Than this one life shall give, 

All in spite of my most I live — 

So man sotils and grows while he dies 

And this life never satisfies. 

If so I am to end 

When I am gone, 
To part forever with my friend 

And my gonfalon ; 
Never my Claudia to find 

I so waited for; 
This earth just the tiger's mind 

And his jouncing jaw; 
If I 'm to leave behind 

What I hungered for 
Which was so out of sight 

And out of touch 
Because the Power was so bright 

And the Heaven so much ; 
If I am to mix my soul 

With all that is dust, 
On a level with pewter bowl, 

Less than the grunting gust, 
And I have wilted and died. 

My soul gone ungratified, 
Then am I less than he 

That glutted his whole cupidity. 
My small melon-sucking bee! 

So I grow to look 

Beyond mountain-brook, 



Claudia 859 



Beyond apricot-basket 

Or closet-casket 
To widen my sight to see 

Farther than mere melon-bee, 
To widen my heart to more 

Than all which is gone before; 
So I reach for spirit-might 

By my practice of Right, 
Power which is bom subtle in me 

As is divinity, 
This Power which I increase in life 

By uncompromising strife, 
Just as I grow an arm 

By dexterity of palm, 
Power to outmaster masters, 

Overtop a world's disasters. 
Smash my way through by Right 

Always to new greater height 
To come to greatness beyond 

Gadflies in their mullet-pond 
To play my whole soul 

In such noble sphere 
As I find nor bole 

Nor breath of here, 
Power in me to rise 

Loftier than yonder skies 
So I reach to be 

All there is of me, 
So I compass my ends. 

All ways, all thought, 
New love, old friends, 

All there is to be got. 
More of me to be 

Than all worlds I see. 



86o Claudia 

And 

Claudia is part of all 

Eternity that I claim, 
'Though I never knew her call, 

'Though I never heard her name ! 
I know I am passing on, 

I know half my life is gone 
And Claudia may not be born ; 

Yet is she sure for me 
As is my eternity ; 

Yet shall she follow on 
After I am gone! 

Or yet may she be here 

In my every day, 
Near me as song is near 

When my maples play 
Their robins in the leaves, 

And I shall have her one superb day — 
So the heart of the world achieves! 

Or yet shall she find 
I am close behind 

Where she is gone before, 
Is beyond me and more 

Than I may see with my bite 
Of eyelash-light, 

And I 'm to have her bye and bye 
Just where you think you saw me die ! 

Be the time as it may, 

I will hold to my confident way — 
That Right is Power you shall see some day. 



THE GENERAL 

To the drums, 

Rub-a-dub, 

Here he comes, 

King of cuts, 

Blows and butts, 
A heel and toe trip to his struts, 

Rub-a-dub ; 

Beat the drums 

As he comes; 
'T is a way, so they said. 
He buried his dead; 

To the drums! 

To your chimes, 

Cling-a-ling, 

Ringing rhymes! 

Choke the gongs 

Full of songs 
Till they put a new ring to his wrongs, 

Cling-a-ling ! 

Peal them out 

To a shout; 
Your great General is here 
To build hope out of fear — 

Ring them out! 
861 



862 The General 

To the guns, 

Rancour-boom, 

Spitting suns! 

Settle all 

By a ball! 
So short — no time lost thinking at all ; 

Belch your guns, 

Swish the fire 

High and higher; 
'T was a way he had 
To smelt good out of bad, 

Gentle sire ! 



To the guns. 

Boom them out, 

Sires and sons ! 

What of fire. 

Blood and mire? 
Will they not serve to mount him yet higher? 

To your guns, 

Belch them loose 

For God's use! 
Blow the thunder apart 
For a stroke of his art 

To confuse. 



Flap the flags, 
White and red. 
Shattered rags. 
Bored and split 
Bit by bit 
Like his men with teeth sown in a pit ; 



The General 863 



Hoist the flags — 

Red and white, 

That is right : 
Red for blood, white for death, 
All is told by a breath 

Of his blight. 



To the feast, 

Drain your cup 

To its least, 

'Though they sleep 

In the keep 
Of a ditch after all — 'though they sleep ; 

Tipple wine 

That is red 

To the bled; 
Will they listen to taste 
From their doom-darkened waste 

Of the dead? 



Monk and priest, 

Ring them in 

To your feast; 

To the cowl 

And the bowl, 
War is a parting of body and soul ! 

Drink for drink, 

Human hate 

Made him great! 
What a greatness to kill 
With his consummate skill 

For the State! 



864 The General 

To the dance 

Till his soul 

Reel and prance! 

Let him feel, 

Head and heel, 
How men are ranked by the cut of their steel ! 

Teach him that ! 

Teach him war 

Is a door 
And a way up to power 
By the light of the hour 

As before. 



Are men great 

Where they kill 

And they hate? 

Is it weak 

To be meek? 
Or must it be settled all in a week 

On the spot 

With men's blood 

In the mud? 
Was there no other way, 
Not an hour for delay 

To make good? 



Drop your flag 
To half mast. 
Drop the brag! 
Solemn slow 
As you go; 
Drop the strut of a proud heel and toe; 



The General 865 



Death is death. 

What was war 

Fashioned for? 
Not for glory or power 
By your Hght of the hour 

As before. 



Toll the chimes 

Deep to soft 

Without rhymes ! 

Let a swell 

Of their bell 
Lift its wail to the pitch of death's knell! 

They are gone, 

All for war 

And what for 
But to settle disputes 
By the law of the brutes 

As before? 



Muffled drums, 

Tap them light 

As he comes ! 

Chain the sound 

Within bound 
At a thought of the souls underground; 

Softly low 

Now the heart 

Does its part ! 
Did he kill? — lower the voice! 
Who would leap to rejoice 

At his art? 



RAISON D'ETRE 

Once was a man 
Who took a mind in this world to do 
What best he could, so laid him a plan 

To be brave and true 
To himself just as his honest thought, 
Nor knuckled to what the others taught — 
See how they chopped his dream in two ! 

There was a church — 
He must think their way to do their trick 
Of "thumbs up," a la candlestick, 

Play parrot on a perch 

To quobble and bob 

Like a nincom-nob 
Lest they leap to put him in the lurch. 

There was a law 
Most men think worth pigging for : 
He must part his hair to a certain crease 
Which makes heads famous for their fleece, 

Put a bell-shape to his pants 
Or keep single, lose his chance 
At women and mighty circumstance. 

There was a way 
Men took to following what was good 
A thousand years before the flood — 
866 



Raison d'Etre 867 

He must pickle, must skulk and pray, 
Mind what others do and say. 
Ask not the "why" of it nor "whether," 
Or get his flight clipped in the feather. 

Once was a book — 
He must take it to stuff his youth, 
Never a wink at it once to look 
To see if it spilled a slop of truth — 
Let the bait be sorry pulp, 
Sculpin-likc he shall take the hook, 
Measure soul by the swallow-gulp ! 

Now came the school — 
My little man must bend his back 
To the wink-wise master's thunder-quack — 
Was he not ruler and rule 
To model spirit keen and thin, 
Give me the lordliness of shin 
And hoodwink of a capuchin? 

Next is the bell — 
I am rung in and rung out. 
Choked by precept, left in doubt, 
In lust of Heaven, in fear of Hell — 

And what now is to do, 
Looking about in the morning blue, 
To make me master through and through? 

First is the man 
To be free to be most he can, 
Himself just and no aping ; 
Best is the shape which is self-shaping, 

Power on the spirit-plan; 

Whoso would only copy 
Grows scarce a genius of the poppy. 



868 Raison d'Etre 

Freedom for man! 
The one thing first in the world to grip 
For growth, for more place and span, 
Nor a curl of your priest-dominion-lip — 
Yet is Power put up to be put down, 
As gold Hps conquer the cloud of frown, 
As only the storm wears a rainbow-crown. 

See how the hours 
Of life are full of opposing Powers, 
Priest and Poverty and Death 
Scarce willing you should draw a breath — 
There 's the glory in it to see 
If you can overcome the three 
To rise to government mastery ! 

Man shall be free 
As the lintie sings in his singing bough, 
Careless of what the end may be 
Or why he sings so now. 
Only that he shall wake his tree 
To rapture, that he may free 
His heart of his wildest wizard-glee ! 

Is it not so 
Ye cannot by any thinking know 
More than that a man shall be 
Most in him for loftiest best, 
Which he may not, save that he be free 
To make his whole soul manifest. 

And devil take the rest 

Of your Power or Law 
You monk-men crush a brother for. 
Just for your kingdom of Power and Law— 



Raison d' litre 869 

As if a man were not meant to be 
His own high priest and majesty, 
Nor a thought of you, nor a smutch 
Of your toad-stool altar's venom-touch ! 

Think you of Power, 
How the thing is meant to be overcome, 

Not to put me to cower, 
To pinch my lip up, to strike me dumb. 
Nor yet to bring me to my knees 
For worship or to appease, 

Put me to beg and hum ! 

I *m to be man 
Not by your whimpering coward-plan 
To duck under, cock up a lip 
To whine lest I let my Heaven slip, 

To thumb your pipe-organ praise, 

Look the lap-dog look of amaze — 
Love is the bent of these latter days. 

To fight— to fight 
For the man in you and Beautiful Right — 

To seize life by the hour 
To love and overcome and acquire Power — 
You your own Majesty of Law 
To wing-broaden and soul-soar — 
There 's the thing in life worth being for ! 



A SONG IN A THISTLE 



Pretty bird, 

What I heard 

Was a whistle 

From the blushes 

Of a thistle 

Where the thrush is; 

What I saw 

Was a quiver 

Of a claw, 

Was the gripple 

Of a throat 

For the ripple 

Of a note 

Through the hushes 

Where the thrush is — 
There was orange, melon, blue; 
How the sky-stripes ribboned you ! 

II 

Sky-blown bird, 
First I heard 
Just a flutter 
In a nettle 
And a mutter. 
Saw you settle, 
870 



A Song in a Thistle 871 



Now you came 
Like the quiver 
Of a flame 
Where the needle 
Pricked your foot, 
Saw you tweedle 
At the shoot, 
Spread to settle 
In the nettle — 
Not a note of you was heard 
And the sting there, pretty bird! 



What a bird ! 

Once I heard 

How you carol, 

Trip to whistle 

Light and feral 

Above thistle, 

Trap or tree ; 

Not a quiver 

To your glee, 

But such singing 

Souling throat 

For the ringing 

Of a note 

Through the iris 

Where the fire is! — 
All sky-blue took to singing 
Now the heart in you was ringing. 



Plucky bird, 
Spirit-spurred 



872 A Song in a Thistle 



To abandon 
Peace for foment, 
Put a hand on, 
For the moment, 
Handsome thorn, 
Try the sliver 
Of a scorn, 
Clap a nettle 
Under wing, 
Keep your settle, 
Hug the sting, 
Stop your singing 
For the stinging — 
But the bird of you was there. 
Passion-throated, fashion-fair. 



Just a touch. 

Quite as much 

As was needed 

Of the lushes 

To be heeded 

Where the thrush is. 

Plum and bell ! 

There was apple 

In a dell, 

Amaryllis, 

Coriander 

Where my rill is 

And germander. 

Patrimony, 

Flower of honey — 
But you must face the picket ! 
Put a foot there, flower will prick it ! 



A Song in a Thistle 873 



How could you, 
Gold and blue, 
Made for winging 
Above weather. 
Tuned to ringing, 
Spirit feather 
Fine and free, ' 
Take to dropping 
Down to me. 
Take a yarrow 
By the sting. 
Clap an arrow' 
Under wing 
For the skull dearth 
Of this dull earth, 
You who knew a sweeter thing 
In your round clean robin ring? 

VII 

Meadow rang 
Where you sang 
Of your freedopi 
To be free 
From this treedom 
For a glee 
And a sweep 
To the deepening 
Of the deep 
Where your pillow 
Dips and runs 
On a billow-wash 
Of suns. 



874 A Song in a Thistle 

Only winging 
To be singing, 
And the best of you is heard 
Above meadows, pretty bird. 

VIII 

Next I heard 
How you stirred 
Through the thistle 
For one piping 
Of a whistle. 
Saw you wiping 
Half a wing, 
Get to throbbing 
Just to sing, 
Cock a lip up 
For a song. 
Fetch a tip-up 
Straight and strong 
In the brushes 
Where the thrush is — 
You were singing once again 
And the dagger-dab was vain 

• IX 

Since you knew 
It was true 
You could rise on 
Wing and ether 
And horizon 
Like a breather 
Of the stars, 
Like a follower 
Of Mars, 



A Song in a Thistle 875 



Drop the thistle, 
Prick and thong, 
For the whistle 
Of a song 
With Osiris 
Where the fire is, 
Pin your ribbons to a sky. 
Pour a soul without a sigh! 



THE HEEL OF THE HUNT 

Step to the stirrup, 

Stick to the back, 

Snap up the snaffle. 

Tighten the slack, 

Lash at the buttocks. 

Club at the snout, 

A jab at the spurs 

Till blood spurt out; 
"By Heaven I '11 teach him to dance in air 
Now the pride of the hunt comes, my lady the fair. 

Back to his haunches. 

Paws in the wind 

To spar at nothing, 

He snorted, whined, 

Foamed at two snipping 

Chains in his teeth, 

Nettled to plunging 

Hell on the heath ; 
Stepped him a waltz to one end of the green 
So churning of foam into blood should be seen. 

Call to your partners. 
Whip in the hounds. 
Rattle your fox out 
Over the bounds; 
876 



The llccl of the Hunt 877 

Grapple to horses, 

Spurs to their flanks, 

Let slip the bloodhounds. 

Wallop their shanks, 
Cut the hell loose over ditches and walls, 
And damned be the dog horse or rider that falls ! 

In over cross-roads, 

Log-hills, pits. 

Run down the red-skin. 

Kill him b}^ bits 

Thumping his heart out 

Pleading to rocks; 

Seize on him, bloodies, 

Only a fox 
God made to be stripped of his small red heart — 
Break his back, snuff him out for triumph of art! 

Yet our dogs veered off 

To left and right, 

Wandered away up 

Stream out of sight, 

Hating to spill him 

Fighting in flocks. 

Hating to kill him, 

One little fox 
Alone for his life, nor friend at his back. 
The ladies and lords of all hell on his track ! 

Drive in the sluggards. 
Leash them to trees. 
Teach them here is no 
"Go as you please"; 



878 The Heel of the Hunt 

Off with your jackets, 

Out with the whips, 

Thrash to slash their 

Dull hides into strips; 
Let them see stars till they see what to do, 
And we '11 teach them, by Heaven, just a lesson or two! 

Now for a hanging. 

Gallows in sight! 

Pick out the Leader, 

Collar him tight, 

String him there slowly. 

High into air; — 

See him, you flunkies. 

Floundering there? 
Get the point do you? — such lesson is old: 
Better drum up your senses to go as you 're told! 

Away once again. 

The bold to the front, 

Leaping to plunging. 

Proud of the brunt, 

Capturing chasms, 

Thickets, swamps. 

To kick a wide world into 

Dust on their romps — 
After him, sniff him out, hound him out, hounds; 
Finest art for art's sake — what art has its bounds? 

I loitered behind, 
Watched for a chance. 
Severed the hang-rope, 
Looked for a glance, 



The Heel of the Hunt 879 

Loosened the collar, 

Smoothed the head back, 

Balm at his nostrils 

Smothered the rack. 
Caught him up, poured him my flagon of wine 
As the eyes brought a message from his soul to mine. 

Two brothers were by, 

Whipped nearly to death; 

I bathed them, swathed them, 

Helped them to breath; 

One under each arm. 

Brave Leader in front. 

We took to the saddle 

And heel of the hunt; 
All three now close to me, arm in arm, 
As we galloped by paddock and thicket and farm. 

The sun was dipped down. 

Half smothered in rud. 

Smeared to the rim 

Like a bucket of blood ; 

Sudden a new heart 

Panted behind. 

Throbbed one low thin 

Gasp at the wind. 
Stopped as we stopped, as right there by near 
Young Rennard himself fetched up in the rear. 

Such eyes strained through 
Such soul's fine rain 
Of tears swallowed down 
In the heart again 



88o The Heel of the Hunt 

As he reeled to sink 

In one low last lair 

As if he knew well 

How friends were there. 
Nor would I barter his look to me then 
For a wave of your rounded-up plaudits of men. 

To horse once again, 

Rennard and all, 

As we answered a ring 

Of the night-horn's call, 

Galloping straight away 

Back to the start; 

And they may have it, 

Sport without heart ! 
But give me, instead of a place at the front 
On your play field of slaughter, the heel of the hunt ! 



PRUNELLA'S PRIEST 

One Supreme God is man 

Of his own part, in his matchless circle, 

He not a stitch of your marionette-plan 

To bring him down to his jingling least 

By an altar-trick or quirkle, 

You gorming gulping priest, 

So you may train him to follow, 

To double under and wallow 

In your anaconda-swallow! 

I MEAN you, you lynx-eyed priest, 

You soul and belly of a beast 
To argue men shall be policed 

By ignorance, by fear, to put 
Each one his conscience under your foot, 

His right to think his way 
Under your dog-monster play, 

To crowd out of him, next to nil, 
His man-shape of magic will — 

Slavery for man, duck-under-dom, 
So your power and kingdom come ! 

Priest-Day and Priest-Craft Day, 
Yet all in the world you could say 

Is "Bow down to gape and wonder, 
God is in the split of thunder, 

Knuckle down and knock under, 
No priest ever made a blunder!" 
88i 



882 Prunella's Priest 

Omnipotent man is the man I sing, 
Goodliness all for love of the thing, 
Never his nose to wear your ring ! 

What a pretty thing it is 

Of a summer day 
You to watch a maiden play 

Where the honeysuckles hiss 
In a west wind, she to have her way 

To go and come and sing, 
Light of heart as forests ring 

Or any songster on the wing! 

Never thought of wrong is hers 

Nor whistling wind demurs 
'Though she only sings herself, 

What she is — the siren elf — 
Such a little silver laugh 

To put me longing, 
Stops the chewink at his songing 

That he may hark and quaff. 

On such a summer day 

See her pass 
To watch the meadow-pipit play. 

Fetch his tumble in the grass. 
Dance like joy to look 

To see her shadow in his brook, 
As if the whole sky tried 

To catch her picture before she died ! 

Who would mask her face 

To swamp such life, 
Hide her in his dungeon-place, 

Mother never nor gentle wife, 



Prunella's Priest 883 

White petals in place of lips 

And Death there perches and sips, 
Save you, you lynx-eyed priest. 

You soul and belly of a beast? 

Prunella was such a girl 

To amble like a wren in a cloud. 
Notes of song which could thirl 

To the echo, as all sky was loud 
Of the unmolested spirit of her — 

All the world would love to love her. 



Soon as her day came to love 

She must stoop to confess! 
Goodness is not enough, 

She must be something less, 
Since never she could be more 

Than perfect heart to the spirit-core! 
There were you in your spider-coop. 

There was she too to stoop, 
And all to confess to you 

She was gentle and true 
As love is, and she loved too. 

Her prime patronymic sin, 
So now her troubles begin: 

How like a demon you scored her. 
How like a God you adored her! 

How you tried to force his name, 
Her man she loved her girlful way. 

Yet not a syllable came, 
Nothing of him she had to say, 

And so you made your judgment, 
This piece of weak begrudgment : 



884 Prunella's Priest 

Priest 

I know this man you mean to wed, 

So this much I say to you: 
As well might you be dead, 

Put in purgatory too, 
For he makes bold to strike the Church, 

To put us in the lurch. 
Is wrong to the rib-end too. 

No companion fit for you. 
Wed him, and you have your deserts. 

You drop your Hope-of-Heaven thought 
For one consummate sorrow lot, 

Your place outside our church ! 

Prunella 

How willingly now I leave 

Your church, I who believe 
In love, while here is every art 

Put in practice, and not a heart! 
I hark to the highest voice, 

There 's my choice; 
I lean to the sweetest word 

Ear ever heard ; 
I look to the finest thought 

Spirit has wrought: 
Love, which is lord of all, 

Great or small ; 
Love, which has mastered kings 

At the throne of things; 
Love, and I tell you what. 

You know it not, 
You who double to your knees 

Your God to please. 



Prunella's Priest 885 

You who snivel to whine 

For your soul and mine, 
Beg like a pauper for what 

Is denied you not, 
Power to grow great as a man 

Would be or can, 
Power to strike straightly for free 

As a kite in his tree, 
High above heatherbell sod, 

High true as a God. 

Haphazard Day, 

Over and away, 

I fly forth 

Into east or north, 

I dart high 

Into pointed sky. 

Or down I look 

In my chromo-brook. 

In whited air 

For the rudeness 

Or the goodness 

Which is there — 

Haphazard Day 

And I away 

To be free 

To cut my path 

Into aftermath — 

I look to see, 

I look for thee 

Where song is flung 

Above lip or tongue, 

Where thought is tied 

To the other side 



880 Prunella's Priest 

Of worlds I see 
In immensity — 
On yonder stair 
Of the freehold air 
Blown everywhere 
You. are not there — 
Where Leo runs 
His wheel of suns 
Against time 
I see him climb — 
Where Propus props 
The sky nor stops 
At crumbling tops, 
Round is the air 
As heaven is fair, 
Yet you are not there! 

Priest 

But here, and God to be glorified! 

For that has man lived and died, 
I to bow down in the sod, 

Smallen me to greaten God, 
God to be worshipped, while so 

I make humble in brow and toe 
For God's sake, as who does not know 

God has made and would have it so? 
What shall be greater than I 

Bow me down in shank and eye 
To glorify God in his sky? 

What shall be greater than I 
Come to my whimper and sigh 

To beg a lift of divinity? 
Or what shall be greater than this, 



Prunella's Priest 887 

Heaven for me, one spanking bliss, 
I not a snuff of it to miss? 

Prunella 

'T is greater to be great, 

To be master of any fate, 
Master and master at any rate ! 

What goes there great that you, 
Your nose buckled to your shoe, 

Duck the duck of a cockatoo? 
What God is there shall be pleased 

That you have wheezed and sneezed 
Humility that he may be pleased? 

What God is there would shackle 
Head and beak so you only cackle? 

What God is there to fatten 
If he see you crawl and flatten? 

What God is there would not, too. 
Make another God of you? 

But how to be God and be pauper too 
In the soul of you? 

How to see Truth like an eye-ball clear 
And you quobble for fear? 

How to stand straight and bow over, 
Put soul under cover? 

There 's the God of you to be 
Much as any soul may see, 

High undominated free! 
There 's the God of you to know 

All there is above, below, 
More to come to, more to grow! 

There 's the God of you to soar 
High above what went before. 

More to compass, more and more ! 



888 Prunella's Priest 

There 's the God of you to fasten 

Fingers where starfields vasten, 
Moonways glassen! 

What is there that you shall do 
Just to prove the God in you 

Like noble being, mastiff-true? 
What Heaven is for you you shall gain 

Like the soul of you put plain 
For perfect man and not a stain? 

What is there in worlds above 
Fills this endless soul enough 

Like human greatness, human love? 

Priest 

God is great, I am small, 

I am nothing, He is all, 
So what were greater, when all is said, 

Than I humble me instead, 
Than I beg my daily bread? 

Prunella 

Greater much that you earn it ! 

Here 's one truth, you to learn it: 
Never 's a God in all the all 

Loves that you be humbled, small, 
To know you wince to blubber, 

Double like a thumb of rubber. 
To put you leaning on Power — 

There 's the violetted flower. 
Head against giant storm. 

Mouth up to the shower, 
Holds its own way and form ; 



Prunella's Priest 889 

Straight as truth it will stand, 
Climbs always to leave the land 

So the sweetest purple-worth 
And best of it shall have birth 

Safe above all grasping earth, 
And not a God's hand to drown 

Or hold the splendor of it down. 

Priest 

Yet is God mighty and mightiest 
By all wisdom and all best. 

Prunella 

Not that, oh vanity-brother, 

But wholly surely something other 
Than man is or may think 

To think of by his cat-wise wink. 
Other than good or better or best, 

Other than any mightiest 
You know of or may think of 

To get your little lousy wink of. 
Great is God as His endless sphere, 

Great be you in your hemisphere, 
God too, not a nerve to cower, 

Conqueror of each militant hour 
To love, outmaster, acquire Power. 

Comes the whole mankind of weaning. 
Only weakness comes of leaning, 

So why this maudlin chapel- yelp, 
This under-dog whining of a whelp 

Always and always for heaven and help? 

Priest 
Nor worship of God, would you say? 



890 Prunella's Priest 

Prunella 

Worship is love by any way 

You shall grow greatness in you, 
Noblest greatness to be or do 

Your best life uttermost and you man 
For all loftiness all you can, 

All straightening and no crawling, 
All greatening and no smalling, 

Supreme boldness of fine feeling, 
All heightening and no kneeling. 

Not the one hairful of fear, 
Not the one cock of an ear 

To that Bishop who fastens you down. 
Finds God governs by His frown. 

You above priestliness to know 
The God in you will have it so 

You shall be master all your way 
Of Beauty as the ewe-go wans play 

Or puffins in a yellow day. 
Nor a fillip for what those Bishops say ! 

Is not your true life of love 
Of man and God true worship enough? 

Priest 

Ah, but all men were meant to die 
Out of this every -day sky ! 

Prunella 

So are men meant to live, 

Meant to take and give, 
To joy or suffer for strength 

Anyhow, any length, 



Prunella's Priest 891 

So what you think hard or wrong 

Puts you each da}^ each way strong 
For manhness, which is godhness, 

While never the thumb-tap less 
Would bring you to it to do 

Your royallest, wrought of you, 
Would bring you to it to be 

More than men may look to to see. 
Not for God, but for man is this earth; 

Not for God, but for man is this birth 
Of Beauty I see around 

In every sky, in every ground 
To grow to, become part of 

Other being beyond it, 
You unmanacled, unbonded 

By power to throw off chains 
Of monarchy by man or God 

To get above pains or gains. 
To circle above this sod 

Of your poltroonish fears, 
Above lickspittle tricks of whining tears 

To invite Power to come your way — 
Is spirit meant to creep and pray? 

Priest 

Is not God in His sky 

As infinity is high? 

Prunella 

Love God I may, bow down to Him I will not! 

Put that fire in your gabata-pot 
To see if you get a new light. 

See man put under no heel of might 



892 Prunella's Priest 

By authority to shape him this way, that way- 

As if I 'm to follow your clumsy cat-say! 
God in His heaven, I in mine, 

I to let m}^ star-night shine 
Undominioned, co-divine! 

God to His infinity, 
I my blessed sight to see 

He would make no slave of me ! 
God to His power, I to mine 

My way I was meant to incline, 
And no twig in your columbine. 

No part of your lily-pad pluck 
Which lies flat, face up-stuck 

As if afraid of sun-shine luck, 
I of myself to strike 

With the light wing of a shrike 
For loftiness God -fashion-like ! 

God would greaten me to my greatest, 
Therefore do I stand my straightest, 

Never the pebbleful of fear 
But in my human hemisphere 

I shall master my righteous all. 
Be it large as you or small, 

Come to my crown-royal core 
Of king aye kinglier than before, 

And what God governs to complish more? 

Priest 

Reigns there no government of God 
In this ball of sod? 

Prunella 

Power unto power, 
I unto me 



Prunella's Priest 893 

By each bulbous hour 

For mastery 

To ply my art 

Of soul and heart, 

To play my part 

Beyond the nod 

Of fearful fool, 

Beyond the rule 

Of any God 

And I strike high 

Against his sky, 

Beyond the rod 

Of any God 

To trick my knack. 

Break my back, 

And I my breath 

To laugh at death, 

I my power 

To make for Might 

Each laurel hour 

By way of Right, 

I my glove 

And arm enough 

To strike for love, 

I my soul, 

The elf of me, 

Unkingdomed whole 

High self of me 

To gain my goal 

Of mastery. 

Nor ever look 

In your blindfold book 

You clap on me 

That I may not see. 



894 Prunella's Priest 

Nor one small fear 

To make my way 

By conscience clear 

Beyond your clay 

Of vulgar dreams, 

Your Heaven to pay 

As merit seems, 

Your Glory- Day, 

Your piggish schemes 

To grow men great 

By bribe or threat. 

Your Hell to hate. 

Your Heaven to get, 

As if this soul were cold. 

Hungered for the wipe of gold, 

Hungered to be bought and sold 

And not to love, 

Which is gain enough, 

Not to grow. 

Which is all I know, 

Not to be free, 

Which is royalty. 

While so you plod, 

Whimper to God, 

Fashion you see 

Divinity ' 

In bended knee, ., 

Fashion you tower 

To spirit-power 

By what you cower, 

By lifted palm, 

Psalming qualm, 

Shackled arm. 

While I shall rise 



Prunella's Priest 895 

Against my skies 
Gyrfalcon-wise, 
Nor a God to put 
Me under foot 
While I climb to shove 
My flight above 
Your trembling perch, 
Your fawning church. 

Priest 

Grow not all things for God, 

Circles of worlds, Dorado's nod, 
Dew-fall in the primping sod? 

Prunella 

Grow all things their best to be, 

There 's your best divinity, • 
God in you, God in me ! 

Look the universes through, 
What goes there to get or do 

Better than the best of you? 
Looks God once for fawnery 

Of limp-hump or prayer or sigh, 
Not for my foremost I shall do 

For what is masterfullest true 
Of me by my own trick and cue? 

Where for you is your nobler plan 
In any God's meridian 

Than mastering and unmastered man? 
Not for God is this life, 

But ail-forcefully for man, 
He bv loftiness of strife 



896 Prunella's Priest 

To make of him his most, 
To circum-widen his span 

To yonder unending coast 
Of vast creations, only to see 

More of him to grow to to be 
By one wide scheme of mastery, 

Integrity of soul his crown, 
Not a God to hold him down, 

Not a God to order so 
Soul should ever cease to grow, 

Not a God to govern me, 
Take my bow, my crooked knee, 

I the God of me to be, 
I my own divinity! 

Priest 

Is there, then, no government 
Of the world? 

Prunella 

Such government of Beautiful Laws, 

By effect and cause. 
As never a God shall stem 

The monarchy of them. 
As never a God shall clew 

His hand against you, 
God in his kingdom, I in mine 

For such power 
As hangs my Santenay vine 

In mountain flower, 
For such power as I shall swing 

By my blossoming 
My cheek red, my heart high 



Prunella's Priest 897 

As the heliotrope sky 
To run above earth, to make free 

With sublimity, 
To make vast with my soul 

As the endless whole. 
Nor a God to put me here or there 

By his cunning care, 
Nor a God to make of me dupe, 

To give me my stoop. 
Nor a God to have me to know 

Your one way to go, 
Nor a God to put me shrinking 

For fear of his blinking, 
Nor a God to govern my ways. 

Shorten my days. 
Nor a God to list for my whining, 

For my chining. 
Nor a God to meddle with me 

In my egotry 
To go my way my royallest, 

Never your way nor loyallest. 
Nor a God I shall bend my knuckles to 

To pleasen his view. 
Satisfy you, 

Nor a God in anywhere to decree 
Subserviency of me. 

But God out of all time and space 
And beautiful place, 

Never his hand at a cause 
But by Beautiful Laws, 

Never his voice to be heard 
Save in tree-beam or bird, 

Or where the west wind ties a whistle 
In ground-pine or thistle, 



898 Prunella's Priest 

Never his hand in time to be seen 
Save where the suns are sheen, 

Planets green, 
Beauty endless king and queen — 

God for me I may conquer, acquire, 
God higher ever and ever higher 

Than where the suns are fire, 
Constellations spire- 
But not God ever to trick with me 
In my divinity, 

Not God ever to fumble with you 
In the thing you do. 

In your high masterful compound place 
Where you run your regent-race, 

Where you make surmounting cause 
To mount to power, laugh at loss. 

By homage to Beautiful Laws, 
You omnipotent in your sphere 

By virtue of virtue 
To dominate this now and here, 

Never God to help or hurt you — 
There is your garden of power, oh my brother, 

No other, as God lives, there is no 'other 
Than homage to such Beautiful Laws, 

Effect and cause. 
As you may not put aside 

In the soul inside. 
More than in yonder spaces 

Where worlds are wheels to know their places 
To spin, to glisten and burn 

Endless climbing fire supern 
For always creations wider, higher. 

New worlds breathing out of fire — 
What universe holds an urn? 



Prunella's Priest 899 

Priest 

Is man, then, in his hourful 
Of life all powerful? 

Prunella 

"Be ye therefore perfect" in your sphere 

(Perfect is he who does his best) 
And this one thing of you is clear: 

You have been put to such a test 
As ranks you most and mightiest: 

Perfect man, 
Perfect power! 
There 's the plan, 
Here 's the hour! 
Circumstance 
Gives you chance, 
You to choose 
The first of you. 
You to lose 
The worst of you 
As life goes on. 
Night and dawn, 
Ditch and lawn 
To put the test, 
Bare your breast. 
Strike you down. 
Stand you straight, 
Snatch your crown, 
Smash your fate, 
Come by stealth. 
Sap your wealth, 



900 Prunella's Priest 

Pick your eyes out, 
Put your size out 
In the world 
Where you fashioned 
And were passioned, 
Proud and pearled, 
Let the sliver 
Spit you through, 
Let the quiver 
Turn you blue, 
Learn the te.ror 
Of an error, 
Learn the power 
Of a flower 
Now it freckles 
Fire-new, 
Now it speckles 
Water-blue 
To play its part, 
Capture heart, 
Capture the eyes 
And size 
Of you — 
Man for master, 
Man for king. 
Always vaster 
Reckoning, 
Always Beauty 
Beckoning 
Power to you, 
Power to grow, 
Power to do. 
Power to know, 
Never leaning 



Prunella's Priest 901 

On a God, 
Ever weaning 
From this sod, 
Man for master, 
For forecaster, 
Man the God ! 

Priest 

Omnipotent, then, would you say, 
Man is in his thicket-day? 

Prunella 

Man omnipotent in his paddock — 

So a tortoise is or haddock. 
Is his highest, makes his most. 

Which is more than you could boast ! 
In such universe without limit 

What omnipotence, will you say, 
Rises ever once to brim it. 

Once I stop to think one way: 
All Power — and there is no "all," 

Only ever great and small, 
As ever smaller and greater 

Time ripens new mooning places. 
More worlds to no end of spaces. 

And so more Power, you to find 
Not omnipotence of any kind. 

But God all other than you divined. 
Then is omnipotence for me, 

I in my divinity. 
Far as I may reach to see: 

There 's the spider in his wall. 
There he thinks he has it all, 

Bandboxed in his silver stall. 



902 Prunella's Priest 

His net of high titled green, 

Just a dash of wine between, 
So, just as far as he may see, 

Is monarch in his poverty. 
Likewise so I stand to be 

Monarch far as I may see, 
Monarch of this soul in me. 

Monarch by divinity. 
One hand on eternity, 

I myself to compass good 
My way, not your way you would 

Nail me to your tune and mood. 
Mark your spider how he cingles 

His trap-house to see to root 
The soul out of a mooning newt, 

Sees not beyond, nor mingles 
Where the orange lily tingles 

In a bath of wind — looks not where 
The hawk lies on his pillow of air. 

Yet, far as he may see to see. 
He kingdoms in his royalty, 

Far as he shall have intent 
Lords he lord omnipotent. 

Have I the less power to be 
Master by autonomy 

Far as I may look to see, 
And I look so far beyond 

Life and my world around 
I chafe under each new bond, 

Hope unties me from this ground 
Once I see my falcon leap 

Into his shining deep. 
And I have eyes to see 

Far forever more than he. 



Prunella's Priest 903 

Other souI-sublimity 

I reach to because I see it, 
Bounden to embrace and be it — 

Why shall I not have the whole 
Of what I see in my seeing soul? — 

That your spider does in his hole ! 

Oh, to be free as the lark 

In his pile of dark ! 
Oh, to be free as a kite 

At his noon of height, 
Over black clouds to be ringing. 
Between the suns to be swinging. 
Cast my lot in the wild-flower tree. 
Let the sweet wind hark for me — 

Oh, to be free! 

Oh, to be new as a day 

At my song I play ! 
Just to be new for an hour 

As the hyacinth shower 
To fall where vines are sighing. 
To kiss where leaves are dying. 
To coat the croton another blue, 
Hang it in a chain of dew — 

Oh, to be new! 

Oh, to be true as a shot 

To the target spot. 
True as the splinters of light 

Flash eyes above night 
That I may see to be truing. 
That I look up to be doing 
Other than others may fly to do, 



904 Prunella's Priest 

Strike my emerald light or blue — 
Oh, to be true! 

Oh, to be free to be new. 

Free to be true ! 
Not as my wild honey tree 

Flutters to be free. 
Singing never, ever sighing. 
Flapping wings, yet never flying, 
But free as a morning wind to flee 
Full of dawn and melody — 

Oh, to be free! 

Priest 

So you will leave us. 

Nor yet believe us 

Our convent-sisterhood 

Makes part of all good, 

Refuge for you 

From your world of sin, 

Penance to do, 

New life to begin, 

Your one way to see 

Divinity 

Is not of this life 

Of lowermost, 

Of mother and wife. 

Of pleasing host, 

Yet you see how true 

This passing ghost 

Is all of you, 

How the world is small 

'Though you have it all. 



Prunella's Priest 905 

How a life is short 
As a bubble's sport, 
While the soul of you 
Craves a way to hide 
From the world outside, 
While the whole of you 
Points to brighter day, 
Claims a larger pay 
If you hold to right, 
Put the world to slight, 
Keep Heaven in sight. 

Prunella 

Not I to keep your Heaven in sight. 

Not I by kingdoms to be bought; 
I for only love of Right, 

For never hope nor thought 
Of more than all my soul to be 

Mistress of what is most in me, 
More than you shall name or see, 

Soul to come to, soul to be! 

Not I to dodge aside. 

Not I for you to hide 
In cloisters — I was made to fight. 

There 's my first right royal right. 
All a world for me in sight 

To clinch with and unmaster. 
Neve: to escape the blow 

I must give and take, and so 
I am more than your saint in plaster. 

Not I to creep away 

Out of the storm of day, 



9o6 Prunella's Priest 

Coward to snuggle me about 

By bars to shut the struggle out, 
Coward to snivel to do 

The will of you, 
And not a chance to be true 

Since not a chance to be false, 
Nor yet a way to be new 

In your temple of halts. 

Never is higher way for me 

Than the world I see, 
Once I strike for power. 

Face the ugly hour, 
Tempter and tempted, and so 

I will come, I will go. 
Free as honeysuckles blow, 

Mightier than you trick or know. 

Not I to slink away 

From my race and day. 
Not I to dodge the blows 

Of a world that grows 
The woman in me by what I face 

Of counter-force, hold to my fighting-place, 
Hold to fighting for my race, 

Nor homage to your throne of grace! 

Not I to crawl aside 
' From the sun above wide, 

Nor miss one violet day 

Where my cedar birds play 
And I to hold one truth — this: 

Head up to storm or moon-beam bliss, 
Foot against any precipice 



Prunella's Priest 907 

If I would wear the briolette, 
Match the violet. 

Priest 

Comes there no reward 
At the hand of God? 

Prunella 

Reward of soul which I grow 

By the way I go; 
Reward of power I achieve 

By the light I give, 
By my love of Right, 

My love of light. 
Nor Heaven in sight, 

Only my reward of Might, 
As the field flower blues its wings, 

Wears the beryl dew in strings 
Face up to the force of things. 

Reward, and I care not what, 
So I come to know 

I am more than gain to be got 
Beyond, below. 

More than spoon-handled to dip, 
All hand and lip 

To take, if once I have paid 
Your price, get my Heaven instead 

Of myself which is more 
Than your market-store. 

Of my soul which is vaster 
Than any master. 

Soul in me to outwisdom you 
By what I am. 



QQ^ Prunella's Priest 

More of me than what I may do 
Or diagram, 

More of me than what you may span 
By your hand of man, 

Than what you may cage for keep 
To hark to your peep. 

More of me than what you may score 
Forevermore 

By thought, your thought which is plastered, 
Heart alabastered, 

More and more of soul in me. 
One part of eternity 

Will not be mastered. 

A Confessional 

Once was one summer morning 

Of an olive awning 
Under which they stood, 

Girl and priest in their broods of trees 
Against their sun-pond — there they could 

Try titles with birds and bees 
To get what moon-flowers have to drop 

Of white light or early crop 
Of sweet — how mellow 

The heart is when a day is yellow! 

Soon he was at it to pick 

Phoenix, sandalwood stick. 
Flowers of the swan wing, leaves 

Of teaberry or cotton cheek. 
Boughs of fingers in copper greaves, 

Anything to help him speak 
To say — what should he say 

And his whole heart there gone that day 



Prunella's Priest 909 

As fire flics out of a sun 

To draw you to it — j'ou both are one? 

By an edge of the wood 

To build her a bower 
Of the pied-ej^ed flower 

In willow-snood 
At the lake's front foot 

Where the sun was glued, 
His heart now he put 

To the task, while there 
His new confession-booth was fair 

As her look to him in the melted air. 

She should be priest 

In his place that day, 
Hear his heart at least, 

All he had to say 
Of how his priestliness was vain 

When soul was king, truth was plain 
And love was come in the world again, 

As there she sat in her house of flowers, 
Princess now on gilded hours. 

Power of love above the Powers, 

He to confess — that he did — 

Nothing now of conscience slept, 
Nothing of his heart he hid. 

Nothing of his love he kept 
But she should have it, she to take 

Heart and soul of him to keep 
High above prizable stake 

Of Heaven at his altar-heap — 
Love unbosomed and ungloved 

There as he told her how he loved, 



gio Prunella's Priest 

How above earth she was great 

Of heart and spirit-state, 
Above altars or what he knew 

Church held to be true, 
How greater than hope or faith 

In worlds beyond death 
Is the brave man true 

To his heart to do 
His soulfuUest here 

For not a fear, 

For not a bribe 

Of a Heaven to get, 
For not a gibe 

Of your parson tribe 
At their petty let, 

But yonder coast 
A man to boast. 

For soul is most ! 
Now fetched an eagle in trim 

At the voice of him 

As if he would give him fight, 

Put him to the touch 
To try his flight 

If his pluck was much, 
If his heart was right. 

As on he went breast-first to tell 
His love of her, nor knew his words 

More than the galaxy of birds 
Just overhead striking their bell 

To ring and sing him all is well. 

And she — well, nothing less 

Than she too must confess: 



Prunella's Priest 911 

"Once you said you knew the man 

I loved and meant to take, 
Knew, too, he had a plan 

To strike the church for sake 
Of truth and freedom and love, 

Which was cause enough 
That I should put him aside. 

Take your church for guide. 

" Never you knew my man, 

Never you thought to guess 
Who he might be, what was his span, 

What his heart for mightiness 
Once he were roused to do. 

Roused to be bold and true 
To strike for power, make men kings. 

Not your pimple underlings, 
Mole-eyed, their house in the sod, 

All fours down to you and your God. 

"Never you thought my man might be 

Bottled in your hierarchy, 
Himself bound hand and foot, 

Silent as a conquered coot. 
Nor breath of him left to speak out 

The princeliness of doubt. 
Nor man of him left to make 

One fight for love and freedom's sake 

Never you dreamed to see 

Who my man might be — 

"He that is true as Light, 
Kingly as Right, 



912 Prunella's Priest 

He that shall follow me 

As I follow too 
Where his soul is free 

For a will to do, 
For the man to be, 

He that shall climb for love 
To all heights above. 

Never enough 

"Of new worlds to be kinging, 

New truth to be singing, 
As he shall follow and I know 

Love is why he follows so, 
Love of mighty love and truth. 

Love which hangs about his youth 
And I follow — there am I, 

One moon in his galaxy — 
Evermore beyond and above, 

Yet all for love, all for love! 

"Was he not for me 

Before eternity? 
Was I not for him too 

Before the heavens were blue? 
Shall I lose him now, and he 

Forever meant for me, 
Lose him by a church between 

For an evil screen 
To put us forever apart. 

Snap this bondage of the heart? 

"Is he not a priest 

In love, at least, 
With me, I too with him. 

Heart and soul and limb? 



Prunella's Priest 913 

May we not go together, 

Suck the sun-pond weather, 
Our two Hves evergreen free 

As yonder dickcissel in his tree 
Flings his breath of melody 

For you and me? 

" Is there no way to go 

Higher than the way you know, 
Nothing nobler to see 

Out in immensity, 
Nor sky of a cleaner blue, 

Of wider view 
Than narrows in your church for you. 

Your Pontiff might, 
Your altar rite, 

Your Heaven in sight? 

"Together, I and you. 

For what is high and true, 
Always beyond us too — 

Man to stand straight and free 
As stands divinity, 

God in you, God in me. 
Never God to crawl to. 

Kneel great or small to, 
Man his own God to grow vaster. 

Always man for master and master." 

What a pretty thing it is 

Of a summer day 
You to watch a maiden play 

At woodnotes, her meaning this, 
That love in the world is come to stay 



914 Prunella's Priest 

As hearts are meant to swing 
Free as bottle-flowers in spring 
Or any songster on the wing! 

Now she fingers troops of moss, 

Club-moss at her feet, 
Handfuls of sun-boon sweet, 

And what of night, what of loss? 
Is life not meant to be incomplete. 

The best of it I find. 
My pot of joy, juggling mind. 

Meant to be dropped and left behind? 

There she argued to her priest 

Her April way: 
"Soul is more than Heaven may pay, 

More than your eternal feast 
Of joy is this power to make your way 

By force of soul to be 
More than life may touch or see, 

One self-divined divinity." 

They together — the birds above 

Like souls in air 
Pointed to sing another where 

Of freedom and power and love 
Beyond us, as always upward there 

The kildee climbs and sings 
As if he saw what new life springs 

Beyond this heavy world of things. 

They together, maid and priest. 

That great summer day 
Meant for love to have its way, 

Love of man and truth and beast, 



Prunella's Priest 915 

Unkingdomed as the pinon-jay 

To shout from tree to tree 
More than he may think or see, 

All of his soul-sublimity. 

They together — priest no more 

To snivel and bend, 
But man straight on to the end, 

Heart straight in to the core, 
And she for lover and perfect friend — 

Oh what a world is here 
For man, for higher and freer. 

Never a God to interfere ! 

Pond-lush of lilies in store 

And he gathered them, 
Knotted her his diadem ; 

Love was master, soul was more 
Than galaxies to no end of them 

Now he could see in her eyes 
More than what is merely wise, 

The light which climbs beyond the skies. 

Lilies made fast to her brow 

As his lips there too. 
Love was more than all he knew 

Of canon or altar-bow. 
Love was a way to be free and true. 

Was light and power and ruth — 
Oh the monarchy of youth, 

Love of man and moon and truth ! 

They loved, and they were one together 
As the sun and his pretty weather, 



9i6 Prunella's Priest 

That Oxford flower and its eye of dew 

Looking the one pink look to you 
That they are one soul through and through — 

Is th^re question of "why" or "whether"? 
Has snow-bird or yaffler protested aught? 

Have the loud mountains made a sign 
But human love, if little or not, 

Is more than all thinking is, divine? 
But love shall be largest to be best. 

Will grow to more, never an end 
And a universe for a friend. 

Every atom born to be blest. 
Higher to evermore higher, 

Aways one uncollected desire 
Soul has, like constellations spire 

Never to reach their outward fire. 

Now are our lovers under their tree, 

Under their silver-leaf tree, 
One ivy 'round it, vine and tree 

To climb to rich sublimity — 
Soul is meant to do and to be, 

Nought for fear, nothing for small. 
Love of man and God and all. 



ONE NOBLEMAN 

He was a nobleman — so your world goes- 
Nodded his plumes to her wayward hair; 
What could it matter, so they were there 
To smother her blushes and no one knows? 

He was a nobleman — so your world said — 
Which meant he knew how to plunge his sword, 
Which meant he knew how to dodge his word, 
Play false to women, take long to wed. 

Think of his palace-place, park on park, 
Kestrels to swallow the plum-sweet air, 
Freshets of silver lakes dimpled there 
To laugh at each sky, wring song from the lark ! 

Half a moon-mottled-night dance on his green 

And he could be found at a fountain's edge 

To talk of love while he schemed to hedge. 

And the sweet girl shrinking lest she should be seen. 

Had he aught to fear? — such men are brave, 
Take to a sword like bees to a sting. 
Rap to slap back till mountains ring, 
And men would forget how he was a knave ! 

Take him for what he is, is he, then, brave 
For this, that he holds no feeling left; 
He who could cut the child-heart bereft 
To tumble her lover into his grave? 
917 



9i8 One Nobleman 

His was one terror-reign through the land ; 
Lived never man who could break his sword, 
Where notch by notch his murders were scored 
Till thought turned white at his red right hand. 

Your youngest and bravest, he spitted them through, 

Decked his blade with the flower of the land, 

Till at last one leaped to take a hand 

With the unmatched monarch, show what he could do, 

One so over-young, soulful, small; 
A white right cast of the black left eye, 
One withered patch in the cheek close by. 
And the cut of the father was over him all. 

They knew not each other, boy and man. 
Now they crossed swords at his fountain edge ; 
No chance this night to play false or hedge- 
Red lips spit truth where the steel tongue ran. 

Till sun's good-night look over his hills 
They fought like demons across the green 
Where the white-eyed moon could now be seen 
Just as their blades lapped blood to the gills. 

His lordship found, for once in his life. 
His match — yea, more than a match that day ; 
Dropped to his knees, so the people say. 
To beg for breath at the edge of a knife. 

Spare me this life this once, only this. 
All you name shall be done by me ; 
My whole possession shall rest with thee, 
While yours be laurels other men miss ! 



One Nobleman 919 

They glared at each other, boy and man — 
The left-eyed cast and the withered patch 
Were there on each and a perfect match 
As the moon held a light where the wrinkles ran. 

Then spake the boy to him words of a man, 
Yet would have clung to him for his child, 
Shouted he knew him — his cry was wild 
As heart could shout since the world began. 

"Your word to my mother! take her for wife, 
Take her for better or worse this night, 
Or close those eyes to morning light 
To grope through dark to death's other life." 

Pale night is most gone, day-light is red. 

Dew-gems stand tied in maiden-hair; 

A nobleman sees how love is fair: 

"The mother of such a son who would not wed?" 

And then, swords aside, father and son 
Are locked to each other's stout embrace, 
Heart leaps to heart, face on face. 
For the will of the Kingdom of love is done. 



RUN-AMUCK MACK 

Pitch-boot boy, while what a kick 

He could land 
Like a pounder at a pick, 

Or turn a hand 

Into fist. 
His neighbor's nozzle into grist, 
As if pounding made the gist 

Of what a man shall do 
To prop him higher than his shoe ! 

Solid McRough, not to speak 

Of his power 
Of necromantic beak. 

Of his tower 

Of bruit 
To name him most magnificent brute 
In triumph of lofty foot 

To the point immense 
Which marks the genius of events. 

"Hold," he will say to his man, 

Face to face, 
"I hold you because I can, 

I short your pace 

To an inch 
That you may feel my kick and pinch, 
Learn to obsequy and flinch 

To find out who I am 

That play at loo and loot — I 'm Pam!" 

920 



Run-Amuck Mack 921 

To another he cries "Hold, 

You are small, 
While I have need of your gold, 

For I am all, 

I am you, 
My thought makes your thought through and through, 
You play pretty cockatoo 

To prattle and make your bow 
Knee-shape as I show you how. 

"I whistle and you dance, 

You shall see. 
You the slave of circumstance, 

As, too, of me. 

You to do 
What dumb-head thing I point you to 
If or no it pleaseth you 

Because I have said the word, 
And you will wince like a prison-bird. 

"So mount you yonder flat rock 

In the sand. 
Dance there like a weathercock 

The saraband 

To a point. 
While I whistle and you unjoint! 
Man is grafted to be proined! 

Give me but half a hold 
On his conscience, I '11 have his gold. " 

There he dances, top and keel. 

Mack whistles. 
Dances like a moth will reel 

Round a thistle, 



92 2 Run-Aniuck Mack 

Forward quick, 
Then back as if he knew the prick, 
Felt reverence for a thistle's kick, 

While Mack puts tooth and grin 
Hilarious to see him spin. 

Shall there not come an end 

To such power 
As maketh a whole world bend 

And cower 

Unto God, 
I scarce more than potato-pod 
Meant to bow me in the sod? 

Else why this will in man 
To break bondage, soar great as he can? 

What is there more I shall do 

Than my truth, 
Stand uncompromising true 

Fist and tooth 

Beyond fear, 
All of me, so I domineer 
Power which is against me here, 

To put me too in power 
For climbing till I grow my flower? 

So there he dances, poor man, 

Mack whistles, 
Fattens like an ortolan, 

Shines and bristles, 

Claps his side 
To see his puppet slip and stride 
Now he has his conscience tied, 

So little left of him 
Outside his hop and swap of limb. 



Run-Amuck Mack 923 

Now comes my man into place, 

His place of power, 
For Fate will right about face 

Quick as an hour 

Just to prove 
Nothing runs in one endless groove, 
Soul is meant to spread and move, 

And so my truth is this : 
Men are Gods of their destinies, 

For now comes one strange thing to tell, 

Strange as fact : 
My man points his petronel 

And Mack is Macked 

In return 
With "Now my chance, now my turn. 
Let me see your shin-bones churn, 

Make you your bow in grace 
To dance the whirlwind out of place, 

Keeping my pistol in view 

Just for luck, 
For I shoot quick and true 

As you lack pluck. 

So beware, 
Lose not a trick to tread the air. 
Toe in tune and have a care 

For this new circumstance: 
I whistle while you up and dance ! ' ' 



'ROUND A CORNER 

Prune blue has dotted the sky, 

'Round her cottage her magpies fly, 

So perfect this day is in hand and on high; 

Out of her cottage she comes — 

Florence — she stops in a vine 
Of Bari which stalks and thumbs 

The gable-end in search of shine — 
Florence, and she so certainly mine! 

'Round the corner I am near 

To watch her coddle her vine and peer 

To see if the grapes are ripe as the year. 

Her tiny hand between mellow leaves. 

Her cheek like a leaf of rose as pink, 
And she is one, so you would think. 

With all the Beauty the autumn weaves 
Under her cottage eaves. 

The moment before she came 

I stood in back of a wicker-frame 

Of immaculate flowers with their autumn name. 

She is singing — I hear her sing 

My name — dropped ever word so sweet? 
Did ever the Oregon ring 

His heartfulness out and so complete 
In his branch of cape at the April meet? 
924 



'Round a Corner 925 

"Donald, Come Donald, to me, 

The lark is loud in his Bartlett tree 

As my heart is loud now it calls to thee!" 

Just 'round her cottage comer am I, 

I hearken with such delight, 
Now for her song, now for her sigh, 

I look where the vireos light 
To hearken too and keep her in sight. 

"Donald, Come Donald, as true 

As my heart sings and I wait for you 

In my lap of leaves now the grapes are blue!" 

Overhead the sky is in prune, 

Underneath the leaves are in red 
So I may see another June 

Is in blow in October instead, 
And nothing is gone forever or dead. 

"Donald, Come Donald, anear, 

Bend to me once a lip and an ear 

To know how the shadow you cast is dear!" 

How shall I listen longer so? 

The moon will look through her pack of cloud 
To calm this wind which is shouting loud, 

And I must sing to let her know 
I am near as my heart can go: 

"Only a cottage corner, dear, 

Between us this red end of the year 

That you may be sure I am here and near. " 



926 'Round a Corner 

No word — not a little sound ! 

Have I frightened my wren away? 
Songs in the plum-bush superabound, 

Bull-thistle has tunes to play, 
But Florence is still as her light of day. 

"Hark, for the chorus is ours! 

Hark, there are lips to all silent hours ! 

Oh, hark, and I '11 bring you my soul in the flowers! 

'Round the comer I peek and I spy — 

I must be wary, hearts are shy! 
You touch your bush and the wren will fly. 

So I keep my place and I sing — 
The wren will hark to my caroling: 

"Am I not come to you now 

As the lark has come, and I know how 

My heart is there in your roundabout-bough?" 

Once I took again I see 

What a bunch of drupes she has plucked, 
Her fullest cluster of Lipari 

Right where the tongue of the sun is tucked — 
How well I know they are meant for me! 

"So here is this flower to you, 

As here is my heart for each way true 

Like my flower wears the pink and the white of you ! " 

Light is her step as winds are light 

Which only creep through the grass — 
She comes my way, and never a kite 

Or daffodil but takes delight 
To step aside to let her pass. 



'Round a Corner 927 

One more step and we are one 

As daffodil and surprising sun 

Were matched before kingdoms were begun ! 

Like a flash we are together, 

Heart upon heart, soul within soul; 
The saffron and its feather 

Make not such perfect whole, 
Nor clover pink and clover nowl 

To hold for one and forever. 

Nothing there to untie or sever. 

Just as the ending of love is never. 

Nothing is left to thought. 

Nothing to time or earth ! 
More is of spirit wrought 

Than ever your life was worth! 
Speak we would, yet the words are not — 

Bounden beyond the speech of thought I 



TWO KINDS OF LOVE 

All as I would have said it he said it, 

For better, for worse ; 

His plump hot heart went straight to his credit, 

Had to be shrivelled to death 

To draw in a new breath, 

For she loved him — that came clear from her eyes 

At the fountain's edge 

With one strip of black where the white wave dies; 

Loved him, quite in the new small way 

Of her world of to-day. 

Her life was made up of smallest things, 

Thoughts of an hour, 

With which the whole heart of each world-girl rings, 

Or of most of them, counting the curls 

And doll-dreams of your girls. 

Yet she loved him — that is one strange thing, too, 

In face of it all, 

How souls will be false and can yet be true: 

Love lifting up, earth dragging back 

To get more than its snack. 

Every roundabout way to get at it, 
Mild-mannered at first, 

She tried, with her fine young sense, so that it 
928 



Two Kinds of Love 929 

Was how to train up her side hair 
To each cheek, and as fair; 

To unbutton her bodice lower down 
Than her neighbor's wife, 
Show the shoulders from white to brown, 
Arms naked to draw up an elbow tight 
Till the skin should choke white. 

Next came her stoop, meant to conquer by force, 

Till a blush popped out 

Of each cheek, her signal of hot remorse; 

She was playing the weak first game 

Of a shufifle with shame. 

And so unfair to the other girl there 

So much finelier made, 

That she should be left to each every day care 

To not make her most of her charms 

'Round the pits of the arms. 

To get him, there was the end first in life; 
What mattered the rest? 
He should be master, she shall be wife; 
Enough, counting bread and brood, 
The three tops of all good. 

First, so, to get him, as here was her lie 
To bring it about : 

She could step with him from low to high, 
Be one with him, quite as his slave, 
Half as great, all as brave. 

Five gold bangles out of her hair 

Shall be hidden away, 

A plainer dress with a carelesser care 

S9 



93° Two Kinds of Love 

Shall hang about her this day 
To put words into play. 

What could the lie matter, so she should win, 

Since the end is all; 

What 'though her chalky cheek tingled with sin? 

Counted her carnation lip not enough 

If it pleaded for love? 

Did she love him, 'i faith, what more of earth 
Could he ask to think? 
What more are gold-painted planets worth, 
Held fast where their galaxies swing. 
Than their warmth which they bring? 

This world is to live in and much to gain 
By bitter or sweet; 

To have and to hold it will not be vain; 
Life gave it, death knocks it away 
By the splash of a day. 

To feast, cook knowledge, pile up gold 

Is kingliness crowned; 

While to hunger, keep simple, grow true and old 

Make losses, and nothing in sight 

But the plain way and right. 

With power to do all a world could do, 
Make much out of naught. 
Pile thrones upon slaughter, turn old to new, 
And what should the rest of it count 
How he managed to mount? 

So she would have fashioned him new that day, 

Small matter how small ; 

Less of spirit, more of the clay 



Two Kinds of Love 931 

Shaped man to the cut of her skill 
And mould of her will. 

But his sight was double, so he could see 

How two worlds are one; 

How whatever is points what is to be, 

And not an end, not the loss 

Of a crown by a cross. 

To do the true thing to be done is great, 

Small matter the end, 

Since comes no end to a path which is straight; 

Only your crooked way will run 

Back to where it begun. 

Not what he gained, but what he gave was his. 

His best he had; 

What may a man give the world more than this, 

Or what is there else he shall keep 

When he drops off to sleep? 

She would have turned his world into gold. 

Gold back into world; 

Such barter is life, the practice is old, 

And he should be kept to his place 

At the foot of his race, 

Where she should love him for that he had done. 

Nor for that that he was, 

'Though men are more than the race they run — 

More than all that a man may miss 

Is the man that he is. 

At his garden-edge where honey-birds pause 

For a flower-bed's breath 

Of pomegranate, under green lace gauze. 



932 Two Kinds of Love 

They stopped where he plucked her a flower 
From his cinnamon bower, 

Where he held her face between his palms, 
Close in to his own, 

Would have drawn her all into his arms 
And his heart and soul that night, 
Letting go wrong and right. 

When his bower- vines broke the new moon's rays. 

So sifted them through 

As to scatter gold coins out over her face, 

Put two on the lids of her eyes 

As they do when one dies. 

Caught him a thought of the other girl there 
So much finelier made, 
Her way she died, yet turned more fair, 
Like spirit which stands for most worth. 
Once freed from the earth; 

How once she loved him for that he was, 

Counted him up 

Among treasure beyond his green lace gauze, 

Value of gianter good 

Than bread just and brood. 

He could see her white lips hold their grace 
Like lilies in Fall, 

White as her thin hand under her face 
Now she gave up the world to his keep 
To drop off to sleep; 

How, too, she bade him take his place, 

Keep his topmost soul 

Of man-make square to the front of bis race 



Two Kinds of Love 933 

To fight there for truth up to last, 
Till this time-life be past; 

Not to forget her, fashion her dead, 
For one blue clear day 
Where the stonechat nests, violets wed, 
He should find her to have her again 
Among sun-spots and rain ; 

Words she once chimed to him now were there 

To ring at his heart; 

One way the dead have of showing their care ! 

The untongued, fine faunfooted word 

To always be heard. 

Naught to see or hear is out there 
Among silent worlds; 
Only the spirit of things is fair; 
My pear-flower only speaks out 
When I am about. 

She leaned at the gate of his garden there, 

Looked into his face; 

One strip of smilax knotted her hair 

To toy at her troubleful brow, 

For her sentence was now : 

All as I would have said it he said it, 
Letting go her face 

Where the moon was now trying to edit 
A vision that souls have turned cold 
'Round the burning of gold : 

"For all she was I have kept her all; 

To think of her now. 

To have her again at my spirits' call 



934 ' Two Kinds of Love 

Is the life of me, tell as you will 
How her whisper is still. 

"Her comrades in arms for their country's cause 

Were dropped by the way 

Just where the sting of the fever was 

As the hell-spitting furnace of thirst 

Till death did its worst. 

"Her stand she took in the forefront there, 

One message of life, 

Nor breath of fear, heart made of care 

For all as she knelt by their side, 

Took the fever and died. 

" 'Better so,' she said, 'now a last breath came, 

Since my work is done ! 

My man will find in me nought to blame. 

As he might have done one weak day 

Had I chosen to stay. 

" 'So, too, will he see what path I took, 
What hope I kept, 
One wide-open truth I ne'er forsook: 
Great souls, at the top of their worth, 
Bear away from the earth. 

" 'So he will follow me, that I know. 
In time, which is short, 
The one way narrow, the way I go, 
And soon he shall have me again 
Among sun-spots and rain.' 

"To love her now she is that far away 

As to not return ; 

To hold to her, follow her day and day. 



Two Kinds of Love 935 

Is the life of me, tell as you will 
How her whisper is still. 

"To love, to be loved by her now as then, 

The while she is gone; 

To work by no hope of any gain. 

Above fear, for the love I bring, 

Is the love I sing. 

"To be great were greater than such success 

As your world may know; 

What counts the world only, more gain or less, 

Now soul may out-captain it all 

Above gainway or fall? 

"There 's my foremost high best which is mine; 

What matters the rest? 

The way is to what is more lasting fine. 

Since soul, at the top of its worth, 

Bears away from the earth." 



ANTIPODES 



Hideous 

What a horrible sound was this? — 
Hark, thought I, what 's gone amiss 
Now I lay by my sluggard-embers, 
Night like a flock of wild Decembers, 

Each wind a shriek 

Sharp-ended weak, 
But over and above the wind 

This sound. 
Now overhead, now underground. 
Seemed like it wailed and gnashed and grinned- 
Oh, what a horrible sound! 

What a terrible night was loose 
To rip and plunge like a maddened moose ! 
One would think there could be no hearing 
More than the snort of wind and sneering 
Whine against the glass 

Like the beagle has. 
Till straight above the wind was heard 

One cry. 
One certain mixture of snarl and sigh 
As if the pits of hell were stirred — 
Oh, what a pitiless cry! 
936 



Antipodes 937 

To the window I rushed to see — 
Nothing there save a lashing sea 
Of storm which had fallen to pelting 
Earth like the very heavens were melting — 

I could see spits of fire 

Lick the cathedral-spire; 
One church-front-window grinned and scowled. 

One sound 
Rushed like a curse from underground, 
Whistled and shrieked and sobbed and howled — 
Oh, what a horrible sound! 

My room I darkened to see. 

Eyes closed so soul could be free — 

The within light which gets small showing 

If your cathedral-gold be glowing — 

When came one view 

Would master you 
Past all your believing to know. 

Past thought, 
What hideousness in the heart is wrought, 
What monster vilenesscs come and go — 
Oh, what a terrible thought! 

It was Gregory- Day — church-bells 
Bellowed like a swarm of hells 
Through night and storm now I lay trying 
To see, by dark, whence came such crying, 

Such horrible yell 

Like a devil's bell. 
When peered above my window-sill, 

Outside, 
Two eyes, such eyes as lived and lied 
To kill, hungered and glistened to kill — 
Oh, how they flickered and lied! 



93^ Antipodes 

A hag of one frightfullest face, 

No part but was out of place, 

No teeth, yet monster-fact for wonder. 

Tusks, like a condor's claw, shot under 

And out of her chin. 

Each end turned in 
Like the laps of her yellow hide, 

While there 
Out of the skull in place of hair 
Cropped toad-horns — murder boiled inside — 
Oh, what a vulture was there! 

Hers was the yelping thrapple-cry, 

One dreadfullest fear to die — 

But what of that wild sorrow-throbbing 

Which wailed so, like sweet souls were sobbing ?- 

What, thought I, could she 

Throstle threnody, 
When, straight against the sky there took 

To flight 
Such hosts of infants there was light 
Like heaven — scarcely could I look — 
Oh, what a wonderful sight ! 

Poor martyred little infant ones. 
Nothing once, now stars and suns. 
Straight above storm and thistle climbing 
Where I could hear their bell-hearts chiming 

Into song, such tear-song 
For so small life, so great wrong — 

Their lot 
That they should have wholly missed 
Love in the world which found them not. 
Never once smiled at nor once kissed — 
Oh, what a terrible thought! 



Antipodes 939 

Gregory Day — he made for what 

Lotted you your sorrow-lot : 

Priests for fathers had never known you 

— They could not wed, so would not own you — 

Noble mighty men, 

Holy spirit men ! — 
So you must be disowned to make good, 

For love 
Of church below, God above. 
Their claim to soul and heavenhood — 
Oh, what a terrible love! 

Gold, of course, made the thing in view. 
More gold, nor a thought of you. 
So their blood-altars should certain rise, 
And you there for pretty sacrifice ! 

Are there none to speak? 

Is your whole world weak? 
God, is there no man-heart left 

To swing 
One blow at hellishness, to ring 
Hate on the murder of it and theft? 
Oh, what a terrible thing! 

The hag went down — I saw her go 
Into tumbling undertow 
Of darkness, two claw hands up-reaching 
For the gold-heap, throttle screeching 

Hate and fear — I knew 

What was worst was true: 
She was wailing for that she lost, 

Her hold 
On the hell-horde of bloodied gold 
She captured at such mighty cost — 
Oh, what a truth was told! 



940 Antipodes 



What cherubim! — I saw them rise 
Like soul-sweet against the skies 
To put their new hearts happy-throbbing 
Where is nor priestliness nor sobbing 

Nor worshipping 

Nor silencing, 
But love just, whole high-hearted love 

Of Light, 
Love, which is King by force of Right 
In earth below, in worlds above — 
Oh, what a wonderful sight! 

Your church remains, its gold is here. 
And the worst of it is clear : 
Gregory Day and a crime is doing, 
Child and mother make the whole ruing. 
While your glutted priest 
Counts the crime the least 
With a Savior tucked in behind — 

All 'round 
Is church-chime baying like a hound, 
Chant for cheat and for God combined — 
Oh, what a horrible sound! 



Beautiful 

Dying! — I saw she was djdng now — 
All about her house was still 

From each rowan-bough 

To her window-sill; 
Save only once had the air 
Broken through the blind to where 
She was dying to drop her a song 
Her field-lark carried the dull day long. 



Antipodes 941 



Fairest sweet Edna Grace was dying — 
The wide silent sorrow-room 

Where she was lying 

Held such hollow gloom 
I felt, too, as if I must go 
Her way, which she seemed to know — 
You know how it is, on such a da}', 
If love go, how hard it is to stay. 

And she was all otherwise than those 
Who look for a chance to keep, 

To themselves and close, 

What gain they may reap; 
She kept her way, through and through, 
To be kind and fearless-true 
And doing, with this one bosom-thought : 
Self last, truth first, so that the best be wrought. 

And so she would not listen to you 
Who would tell her what is best, 

Settle what is true 

By your altar-test, 
Knowing there is more in this, 
That a man be what he is. 
His way, his thinking, his wholly best, 
Than he wear your skull so God be blest. 

So was it she took not once one look 
From the pit-bottom view 

Of your missal-book 

To know what is true. 
Nor twisted knots in her knees 
For worship to try to please 
One Infinite God — she kept to her way, 
Her natural free whole self-noble play, 



942 Antipodes 

For Beauty stands first, while each has his own 
To bring to light in his way, 

Not yours which is known 

By the threat and pay — 
Each flower has its tint to catch, 
No Beauty was made to match — 
For that she came to be what she was. 
No part of your tongue-split parrot-cause. 

No priest-hawk once ever closed his hold 
On her own thoughtfullest heart. 

On her soul and gold 

By his Petrine art — 
Just this was her apostle: 
Each soul is meant to throstle 
Its own song, unlap its own feather. 
And small thought of your dull "why" or "whether. 

The Beauty of all of it was this. 
Was her beautiful death, 

While the meaning is 

That as each new breath 
I part with must sudden rise 
Above me, against all skies. 
So my last must, if great or small, 
Bear soul up, the Beauty of it all. 

For now, as there she lay and I thought 
Her dead, as the white new face 

Looked like marble wrought. 

So not a trace 
Of earth was left at the brow, 
Just the pale clear dawn there now. 
Sudden she raised her head like one 
Would look from the tomb after life is done. 



Antipodes 943 

The blue deep eyes started open wide — 
I could not see what she saw, 

'Though I harked and eyed 

Through the corridor 
Where she looked — nothing was there 
Save her wondrous Beauty-stare 
Now I caught her whisper — she could see 
What she said was there plain wondrously — 

All Beauty just, but only the kind 
Which touches soul at its best, 

Above eye or mind — 

There was manifest 
A new other kind of light 
Like a strange Shining of Right — 
Then there was song, such marvel-song 
As might have been a requiem for wrong. 

Girl and boy were we once in the grasses. 
Honeysuckle time was then, 

And 'though life passes 

To come not again, 
I go back to that first spring 
Of joy-leap, of gathering 
Cress and crocus — how now it is plain 
My spring, my love will one day come again! 

"Beautiful" — there was her last word, nought more — 
Nothing ever she had seen 

Or heard before 

Or dreamed of e'en — 
Beauty all about her fair 
As the white sweet face — right there 
She looked once where the stars were in dawn, 
Then her whole heart to me and she was gone. 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 



Hand-gyve her — you knew how 

That last flesh-pinch you gave her arm 

To make her wince you one low poor bow 
Would send new pain-shots to each palm 

To put them flying for no control 
Of such gentle soul. 



Body-strip her up and down 

Of the pale gray gown 
To give your pea-shape eye the glut 

And glisten of a mariput, 
But dodge those moon-eyes so wondrous sad, 

Or mark you this my word, 
They '11 yet fork-fasten to drive you mad. 



Tuck a right sleeve up your elbow-pit — 

Wise of you to think of it, 
Lest those new lips you will make 

Might open on you to hiss and spit 
One blood-spot for her sake 

To stick to you — never mind her hurt, 
'Though you drop your soul, so you save your shirt! 
944 



Cassandra Southwick 945 



Tear-time was now for her, 

Yet you could not see an eye-fibre stir 
Nor lip-end, not so much as lurks 

Inside your red rat-heart, so drop your smirks 
To come to time to whet a lash 

For love of God and the open gash. 



To the rope-end knot a new knot 

For blood-sucking emphasis, 
Your one kind of forget-me-not 

And the thing dates back to Genesis — 
Oh, mind not her, now you have her pinned; 

You know great hearts, so you know she sinned- 
Have not a care, she will stand as straight 

As a rib in your prison garden-gate, 

VI 

Drop out your bumbledom 

To come to the lash — count not one stripe 
To see if a single welt be ripe 

For another to prop up Christendom, 
Since you have one written Council order 

To deal what cut-licks you can afford her 
Now you have done with her stricken mate 

You tried to kill, I would think, for hate 

Of such spirit-grace 

In his white fine face. 



Your stew-stomach, potted cheek, 
My pop-joy friend 



946 Cassandra Southwick 

Of voice for such little chalky squeak 

No soul is in it to try to speak, 
. And you will hide-redden, gut-broaden 

To see such righteousness heel-trodden— 
The dog in you, say I, jaw-snappy, 

While all the while 
Your front teeth show like a chalk-mark smile 

Of mean mouth-pleasantness, crack happy. 



You knew the truly true truth, 

A one way to think, you had it right, 
While she was wrong, so in with a tooth 

To rip her heart out for noble spite ! 
There 's God to serve, Christ to treat 

Like he were half knuckles to strike 
The lip out of a songing shrike 

To cock an ear to his dying bleat ! 



Your mood-militant is not her mood, 

Only this thought, that good is good. 
Small odds how she prays to seal it 

So her way be to act and feel it, 
To never mind your trick to trap 

A sinner in an altar-fiap 
To make a slave of him, soul and head, 

Good as dead. 



Winter is on — you scatter her brood , 

Her young about her — I saw her sheep 



Cassandra Southwick 947 

Would wither in the underwood, 

Her young sweet-gum-tree drop asleep 

And winter at it by claw and nail 

To tear the pith out — her lip is pale 

For thought of those she left a day ago 

Whom you will scatter to an eastern snow. 



XI 



Yet was it yesterday I saw 

You cluck at a priest, put out your claw 
To fimible at his rochet-button, 

One hand fast to his fiap-alb-end 
Now I could sec you wince to bend 

Each eye to Heaven like a vulgar glutton. 



XII 



Her garden is blasted. 

Purple azalea, convolvulus blue 
Are gone, not a bee-leaf lasted, 

Yet here is one fact for you; 
I saw you this same evening here 

Dip a whisper in a prayer-book's ear, 
Come to your knee-down to palaver 

With God for a word with him 
To put your case clean, conscience trim. 

And she — the devil himself could have her. 

XIII 

Still must she join your crew 

For love of God and to be as you. 

Or stick to such righteousness as prints 
All soul there in her sweet-eyed glints 



948 Cassandra Southwick 

To take the worst of it — you 

With your hog-eyed gulp and stomach-stew. 

XIV 

You knew truth — here 's the thing — 

Truth hides its sweet to let slip a sting 

Like a snooded rose, so on with your smites 
Of whip-lash to cut like an adder bites 

And you have it for just the thing, 

You keep your sweet to let slip the sting. 

XV 

Look now to the satin hand 

Which you will not find in your land 
For shape so like a tulip-leaf. 

Vein-forked as a tree of maidenhair, 
Yet will not beckon you to be brief 

Or lighten your blows, such soul is there 
To know a way to grow on grief 

Past all circumference of belief 
To one templed over-blue and as fair. 



Draw blood on her, one clear drop 

To give your prison-dust for sop 
And, lo, I see whole lilies spring 

To circle earth like an evening ring, 
Whited as the spirit-hand. 

To flock for flying in your land 
That men may catch her word 

How, thrust as you will this life-side out 
For faith or doubt. 

The soul of her shall be seen and heard. 



Cassandra Southwick 949 

XVII 

Gentle sweet lady, how you would come 

To put your persecutors dumb 
For joy to know they could while 

One instant in your agate smile, 
And you not looking back 

Where thought was fierce, bosom black, 
You who forgive — while I 

Who could not say them one mouth-mild thing 
For knowing of their whip and sting, 

Oh, learn me how to live and die! 



THE QUESTION 



Shall I ask it? 

I saw her lip 
Shut firm and level as a casket — 

I saw her slip 
One wink, I thought, 
For a true snap-shot 
At the other one there 
Of chin-whisker style, 
Smooth and sharp as his razor-smile. 

Tulips in his gardened hair. 



There 's the question 

A man will think 
Perhaps, for luckiness, he best shun; 

One tiny wink 
Might print a book 
Of her volume-look, 
All the other one got, 
On the face of things. 
Yet how I envied him then his lot. 

How an eyelash-arrow stings! 
950 



The Ouestion 951 

III 

I saw her pose, 

And no mistake, 
Two lips like ends of a Plymouth rose 

For him to take, 
As there he stood 
In his kingdom-mood 
To know he could tell, 
By a blink of her eye. 
How all with him in the world was well 

Once he saw her pass me by. 



IV 



Next, then, the dance — 

And now I knew 
The hour was come I must miss my chance — 

His step was true, 
Eye strong and clean 
As planet-sheen — 
How, too, he would dip 
To swing him and yield 
Like a strip of wheat in a breezy field, 

The two nearly lip to lip ! 



And I so short, 

So little built 
For jacketing of the piefinch sort 

I must take the jilt — 
What else is to do? 
If I onlv knew 



952 The Question 

What her thought was there 
In the breast inside 

Where the soul of a sweet girl tries to hide, 
Might be I would not care. 

VI 

Next just outside 

At the balcony 
They perched for a place to try to hide, 

He falcony, 
She more, I thought. 
Like a pigeon caught 
Now I saw her smile 
At his handsomest face 
Like moonlight nests in my garden-place, 

While I watched them there the while, 

VII 

A moon to deck 

Her brow, her hair. 
Put a new gold band about her neck 

To kindle there 
Two tourmalines. 
To fire their fins 
To fly, to rise, 
As if they could fit 
Their light to her smile and the soul in it, 

Or rival those spirit-eyes ! 

VIII 

And then — well, then, 

I must away 
To the lot of disappointed men. 

Nor stop to say 



The Question 953 

How I could not blame 

(I forget his name) 

My man of the chin 

Like a plumber's file 

For taking her, faith first, at her smile 

Of eyes, which was sure to win. 



Her garden-gate 

Gaped open wide 
As if to tell me the hour was late 

And my chance beside; 
Yet how to go, 
How to leave her so? 
Or how could I stay 
Just to see him chase 
My luck out with his maple-tree grace 

And lord-look and dimple-play? 



As there I stood 

Against the moon 
To hark, in my silent sorrow-mood, 

To the rigadoon. 
Came there, I thought, 
'Though I saw it not, 
Just a touch at my hand 
From the dark behind. 
One warm kind touch, like a kiss of wind. 

Which seemed so to understand; 

XI 

Came then one word: 

"Could you not trust?" — 



954 The Question 



'T was all I wanted, 't was all I heard 

In a whisper just — 
And there her sweet soul 
Had told me the whole — 
What need was to task it 
To language things more 
And her sky-eyes there with their spirit-score? 

The question? — what need to ask it? 



ROSALIE 



Here's to spring-spread of wing, 

Lack-a-lack, 
New leafing of toppy white wing, 

The blow of a rose 

For one look, then to close — 

Alas and alack 

Was it gone that soon 

Like the wink of a moon. 
And I thought Would it never come back? 

Youth 's my master, and the landlord thing 
Says youth is the only ripening. 



Here 's to summer to run, 
Lack-a-day, 

In daffodowndilly for crops of sun, 
One leap-up to laugh 
For a snoodful of chaff, 
An armful of play, 
And the chuckle is gone 
Like a cheek of dawn — 

Is there nothing just over the way? 

A king is summer, and says the king 
Summer 's an end of ripening. 
955 



956 Rosalie 

III 

There 's my Rosalie, too, 

For a day 
Of her dawn-fed summerly lake-eye blue 

To flash me her star 

Through more kinds of far 

Than spaces display, 

And she too to go 

Like a papilio — 
Would she never come back for a day? 

A year is past, summer is on. 
Small summer and my Rosalie gone! 



Winter, too, at its breath 

Of farewell. 
Face put up Hke a mask of death 

To turn to a sky 

Which appears, too, to die, 

To prove how all is well 

To no end of black 

And the stars in back 
And my Rosalie there as well. 

More is an eyeful of spirit worth 

Than the whole fire flash-up of suns and earth. 



So it is true I know, 

Past a doubt. 
My Rosalie 's more than your sky-land glow, 

More than I could see 

For the eyes of me 



Rosalie 95 7 



By looking about, 
Since a glow is there 
Of soul which is fair 
Beyond speaking or all finding out. 

Pin you you may to this one true thing, 
There 's more than one kind of ripening. 



For take her blue wide eyes 

For a trace 
Of shine I see in no suns or skies, 

For a leap of soul 

Through one glistening whole 

Of such garden grace 

As would point a way 

To pick soul out of clay. 
Two dew-lights hung in her bell-flower face. 

My heart drums it no heart is for vain, 
'Though my Rosalie come not back again. 



There, then, is how I know, 
Forsooth, 

'T were better I follow to find her so 
Like a leaf of light 
To have taken flight 
Above month and youth 
And eyesight and sound 
And this feast of ground 

To make the most of one perfect truth ; 

Man is leaf and fruit of the thing 
Since he fades while soul is ripening. 



A MONK IN MONOTONE 

The dear God knows why I am here 

Between these walls; 
What save my honest conscience calls 

For love and fear 
Of him who rules the nations to the end 

That men may bend? 

He knows my reason why I came, 

With new-made heart, 
To dignify, by cloistered art, 

His holy name, 
To bend my back to keep such solemn trust 

Because I must. 

No worldly thought to enter in 

To dwarf my soul, 
For I intend to keep it whole 

And free of sin. 
Shut up where tempters may not come to test, 

And life is rest. 

Here will I put this world aside 

To do his praise 
By doing nothing all my days 

But hum and stride 
Where selfless souls, ere me, have tuned and trod 

The way to God. 
958 



A Monk in Monotone 959 

I brought no other thought or hope 

In coming here 
Than just to make my title clear 

Where others grope, 
By living up aloof from other men 

In cloistered ken. 

By giving up such lively earth 

To pass my days 
Where morning never trailed its rays, 

Where death is birth, 
May I not hope to win my wings to soar 

The shining shore? 

What Heaven that is not labored for 

Stands worth the name? 
An empty gift, or much the same, 

Which quits no score, 
'Though one short life for endless joy, by trade, 

Were overpaid. 

I may not learn to love my Lord 

Among these cells. 
More hideous than a hundred hells 

In one accord; 
Yet will he hold his children twice as dear 

Who stoop to fear. 

Yet had I thought of more than this 

In coming here, 
That I might bring my blessed cheer 

Of benefice 
To one poor soul hard put to keep her way 

In life's dismay. 



960 A Monk in Monotone 

She, for example, who has been 

Beset, besought 
By men who hold her soul at nought, 

Mere worldish men; 
Even she in arms as mother, wife, or pet 

Might God forget. 

Heaven knows I only want her here 

For love of God, 
That she may learn to feel his rod, 

To stoop, to fear. 
To put this world and ground- thoughts straight away 

'Till Judgment Day! 

By saving her I save my soul, 

I 'm sure of that; 
I keep her, too, from a two-toed rat. 

An eyeless mole. 
Who roots his palaces in unlit sod 

Apart from God. 

One day, if God approve of me, 

Life being past. 
May be I may have her then, at last, 

Where souls are free. 
As compensation for my generous care 

Of one so fair! 



THE SHARK AND THE LARK 
An Allegory 

This story they told in ancienty: 

A man grew down in the deepest sea 
By himself there, so wondrously alone 

None knew ever how he was grown 
To come there, or how he came to be 

A citizen of the sea. 
Sea-cobble made his walk 

Where he should lounge or stalk 
Till it was strange to think 

How, having not a fin, 
Nor puff of wind he could drink in, 

He could neither rise nor sink 
As little came to him to do 

In sea-deep, for nought he knew 
Of what was about him or above him 

Save the great waters to shape and shove him 
Under where he must pickle and sleep 

In the salted deep. 
What was for him to pull or taste 

Out of such stupendous waste? 
Scarce was a purpose he could touch 

Or happening he could try to clutch 
But water, only water about, 

Still waters, never ever a pout 
6i 961 



962 The Shark and the Lark 

> Or wink at him to say 

They knew any pleasant play 
To tickle, to put him laughing — 

For him came only dreary quaffing 
Of Power, an ocean of frown 

To crowd him, hold him down, 
To bind him, shin and foot. 

So he should bungle to stalk, 
Fetch the toe- tumble of a coot, 

Pick and waddle like a fork. 
Nor think of it once to know 

He was not meant to be shackled so. 
Being man-fashion-made he knew 

Somewhat of a thing or two 
Of what he could be coming to 

Could he once find a way to tower 
Above such wholly water-power 

As pinned his arms, boxed his brain 
Till thought in him snapped all in vain. 

Completely subjugated was he, 
Hope was drowned, life was drossy, 

For nowhere was where he could go, 
Nothing was what he could know 

In emptiness of endless waters 
And not a sign of sons or daughters 

Himself-like, of whom to learn, 
Not a creature to whom to turn, 

Himself never to strike one blow 
For mastership to greaten to grow 

To somewhat more than he saw 
Made one handcuff water-law. 

Which way soever he sought to head. 
Water made his garden-bed ; 

Whichever way he sought to look 



The Shark and the Lark 963 

To compass other than what he saw, 

Find a thing worth hving for, 
Tap a snapdragon or a book, 

Just the one thing he could see, 
Taste, touch, smell, or be, 

Polli wig-like in a brook, 
A man in the gut-rule of the sea. 

Power had him — he could not bend 
To purpose, make to any end 

Such life had — he could not see 
Thought to grow to or thing to be 

Save clam-like to drink his sky 
Of ocean all overhead. 

Flap his mud-path under foot, 
Ply the wing-work of a newt 

To find him a place to die — 
All his soul in him mostly dead. 

Chorus of Shark 

Up to you now, 
Polish your pins, 
Give us the vow 
To think less 
Of your shins. 
To play chess 
With your fins — 
Up to you now 
Any way, 
Any how 
Which you may! 
Flap your pins 
Into fins. 
Wallop arms 
Into palms, 



964 The Shark and the Lark 

Twist the things 
Into wings 
As you hark 
To the shark! 
Up to you now, 
There 's a way 
To know how 
To unclay, 
There 's a thing 
You could do 
By a wing 
If you knew — 
There 's a way 
And a view 
Of the skies 
If you knew 
How to rise — 
Up to you now 
Heel and brow, 
Paddle fins 
Till motion 
Begins, 
Till ocean 
Unpins, 
Cut a way 
Through the dark 
Up to day 
As you hark 
To the shark — 
You the man. 
You 've a nowl 
And a span, ? 
You 've a soul 
And you can — 



The Shark and the Lark 965 

Take to smacks 
Above sculp, 
Sticklebacks, 
Take to tracks 
Above ptUp, 
Above bars, 
Get a gulp 
Of the stars! 

There he barkened and learned, 

There he bosomed and burned 
To be up, to put might 

To the thought to take flight 
Beyond slime, above cephalopod 

To conquer his water-power God, 
Crush under foot-fall so as to cower 

A whole ocean of Power. 
Flap went his palms to the finger-nibs. 

Elbows sharpened to dig his ribs 
As there by one little shoulder-motion 

He begun to climb in the ocean. 
Begun, by his wing-work, to put 

His grave of waters under foot. 

Shark 

Up to you now, 
Hark to the shark. 
Stick to your vow. 
Strike at your mark, 
Nor you count 
It for far 
So you mount 
To a star 



966 The Shark and the Lark 

For a mark, 
And you hark 
To the shark! 

Light slips in, dark ducks out. 

Power has less of venom-pout 
As he rises, learns how to prop 

Seas overhead to bursting top. 
Up to him now — now he comes to pass 

Where sun tears the sea into stripes of thread, 
Buckles them into drops of glass 

— How they grow olive, claret-red! — 
And now for a first time he knew 

Beauty could tear a sea in two. 

Shark 

Up to you now, 
Mind you the shark, 
Every way how. 
Every way hark : 
Out of your crib 
Pick a way up, 
Rattle your rib. 
Fight a way up 
Nor you stop 
Till you get 
To the top 
Of all wet- 
Have a care 
To the sheen 
Which is there 
In between, 
That you keep 
Your one way 



The Shark and the Lark 967 

Up the steep, 
Up to day, 
That you stop 
Not to see 
If a drop 
Of it be 
Any red, 
Any blue — 
Overhead 
Is for you 
Wholly blue 
If you knew, 
Red and gold 
In it too — 
Have a hold, 
Have a care 
Not to stop 
Anywhere 
For a prop 
On the stair 
Of the sea — 
Everywhere 
Is to be, 
Is to do. 
Everywhere 
Is the red 
And the blue 
Overhead 
And for you! 

Heavy was the sea to hold him tight, 

Push as he could, elbow as he might; 

Power was one purpose to hold him down : 
He should govern mightiness or drown, 



968 The Shark and the Lark 

Nor chance to him to dodge or juggle, 

Fist-first headed for just the struggle 
To force him to widen to breathe, 

Tread the tough waters underneath. 
Night was on, each star was out 

Now he drew near the upper end 
Where the sea begun to split and bend 

Into scowl, spit froth and pout. 
One star first he saw, then two. 

Tongues of copper and lapis-blue, 
Then a whole eye-face of skies 

Looked the look down never dies. 

Shark 

Up to you now, 
Hold to your vow — 
There 's the beach 
Within reach; 
Now is night. 
Soon is dawn, 
Fetch a span. 
Take to flight 
If you can; 
Soon is morn. 
Soon a man 
Will be bom 
To the world 
To be hockled 
And cockled 
And pearled — 
Take a leap 
From the deep 
To the deep. 



The Shark and the Lark 969 



Take a view 
Of the blue 
And the red 
Overhead — 
Beauty there 
On the beach 
Within reach, 
Which is fair, 
Which is rare 
As a fold 
Of the gold 
Of her hair — 
See the girl, 
See her there 
As she waits 
Like a pearl 
In the gates 
Of the sky 
For you there 
With an eye 
Like a lip 
Of the moon, 
With a lip 
Like an eye-pit 
Of June! 
Up to you now 
To your vow, 
To the girl 
Within reach, 
To the pearl 
On the beach ! 

What now, what was to think or tell 
x\s there for his first time he saw 



970 The Shark and the Lark 

Beauty, the thing worth climbing for, 

Beauty, like soul's eternal spell, 
Beauty above him and around 

From sun-God to Sun- wonder ground? 
Chick-like he broke his shell 

Of ocean to make way 
Upward into amazing day 

Of tree-leaf, choristry, sky-fire. 
Seeming to beckon him one notch higher 

Above lavender in each field, 
Lark-eyed song, purple yield 

Of zinfandel, little sparks 
Of dew to laugh while the lilac harks, 

A sky of sun-dust to make night 
Only one new finer kind of light. 

There he was now at her feet 
To kiss the sand her foot-fall stirred — 

Only his talking heart was heard, 
So full his soul was, so complete 

Her Beauty there where she stood 
Against the sun for a yellow hood 

Knotted so in ribbons of leven 
One would think she was half in heaven — 

There he gathered in each hand 
Each footstep she left in the sand 

Once he saw the sea reaching through 
To gather the same footsteps too. 

Up she beckoned him to rise. 
To draw nearer her lips and eyes, 

And— 
Now hand in hand they were off 

To the woods, to the fields. 
Fruitful and never enough 

Which such love-time yields — 



The Shark and the Lark 971 

Up to the edge of a stream, 

Down in the deep to look 
As there Hke a printed dream 
Found in a picture-book 
He knew her image in the brook, 

Her rose-bush Hps, her melted eyes 
Deep in the stream where they stopped, 

As if she had dropped 
From the skies — 

Then came his wonder-thought. 
Was she or was she not 

Like as the dorn. 
Water-bred, water-born, 

Or as there was her red, her blue 
In the sky, like her too, 

Was truth of it this : did she spring 
From the sky like a wing? — 

Or, had he made his mistake 
When he essayed to forsake 
The water where she was 
In its emerald paws? — 
Right as he looked apace 
In the stream at her face, 
Right as he looked, while she saw 
Her image was what he angled for, 
Sudden she turned her lips his way, 
Her eyes too, as if to say : 
"I love you — what do you see 
In the brook there for gree? 
Will you not have one look to me? 
Nothing my image is in the stream, 
Like me 'though the picture seem; 
Up to you now, have a look to see 
For fair how vou like the looks of me! 



972 The Shark and the Lark 

"Come away, 
Here 's the breath of a day, 

Come to me, 
Here 's a world you shall see! 
Here 's a pocket of soul to unclay- 

Come away! 

"Flesh and blood 
For an end of all good — 

Blood and lip 
For the sake of a sip — 
Mark how the daffodil- wing is trued, 

Dyed and dewed! 

"Cheek or chest 
And the thing is for best — 

Here 's to blood 
For an end of all good — 
Beauty to have and to hold and love, 

Nothing above! 

"To the lark 
And his song in the park! 

To the flower 
That will die in an hour! 
Seize you the thing in life which is fair, 

Have a care ! 

"To the field 
For its blossomy yield ! 

To the lip 
For a hungering dip ! 
Beauty to have and to hold and love. 

Nothing above!" 



The Shark and the Lark 973 

Hand in hand they were off 

To pick their way in meadows, 
Hark to the grassquit in his trough 

Of sun- wash, see him dodge the shadows 
Of a quince, then shuttle in and out 

To fetch his joy-warble to a shout. 
Over beyond was fenugreek, 

Costmary, squirrel-squeak 
For welcome, his pretty way to shout 

His afternoonful part. 
Rhapsody of one flooded heart 

For joy just, past all thinking out. 
Next about him and all around 

Hung each glistening dew-bell 
In the grasses like a bluebell 

Till he thought the stars were in the ground. 
Fineness, such fineness as could bhnk 

Out of each little planet- wink 
Held him in arms — high madrigal 

Of silver wind and waterfall 
Caught his soul, each new dance 

Of fly-life put him into trance, 
While over and above them all 

Was she there, who kept her show-peach cheek 
To picture what she could not speak. 

One eye-light of preternatural 
Fireful longing of endless love. 

Nought like it, no one thing above 
To so capture his wealth of soul 

As now to seem like the rounded whole 
Of star-life, anemone, rainbow-rod, 

One supremest daughter of God 
For man just — now he is up 

At her lip — a flower at the dew will sup — 



974 The Shark and the Lark 

Everywhere and all ways and now 

He is fast at her cheek and brow 
As heart points and soul knows how 

To look such Beautifulness through 
To seize her very soul there too — 

There in their starlight hour, 
Each to each, like sun and flower 

For Majesty of heart to heart, 
All soul- world, souls not meant to part 

In any kind of smashing weather, 
Else why should they have come together ?- 

All his is she, all his love, 
All air is his and to breathe. 

One sky-sweep of worlds above, 
One burst of blossom underneath — 

His, his, to have it, to keep it. 
His just so that he may reap it. 

All sky one inverted wonder-cup 
To empty, and he to fill him up — 

Lover and field and friend 
And potful and there an end — 

Did he not outgrow the sea 
To compass land and hand and sky 

From bottom-deep to endless high? 
What more is to think of to be? 

Right as they were bounded there 
Overhead by planeted sky. 
Underneath by the thoroughfare 
Of pimpernels and palms. 

East and west by each other's arms, 
Lip against lip, sigh for sigh 

In their sweet evening about to die, 
One soul there 'twixt face and face 



The Shark and the Lark 975 

And clinging to its hiding place 
Like a tear-drop in a last embrace, 

Sudden there flew one note from the lark 
As he mounted his star-way up the dark: 

The Lark 

Up to you now, 

This is the wind, 

Think of it how 

The sea has been thinned, 

How the sea 

Was be-finned 

Till it flew! 

Once was the sea, 

Now is the wind, 

Once was the sea 

Whittled and thinned 

Till it flew, 

Till it drew 

Soul and sigh, 

Till it flew 

To the sky! 

Up to you now, 

Clean above earth! 

What is this brow 

Of bed-rock worth? 

Here 's a way 

Above day, 

Above dark 

And you hark 

To a lay 

Of the lark! 

Once were you there 



976 The Shark and the Lark 

In the sea, 

Beginning to be, 

Beginning to rise; 

Now the air 

Is for fair 

For the skies, 

Now the blue 

Is for you 

That you rise! 

Heavy the sea. 

Heavy the air, 

Man is to do 

And to be 

And to dare 

To be free 

Of the sea 

And the air! 

Harken to me 

As you hark. 

Capture the glee 

Of the lark! 

To the air 

Where it thins 

And is fair! 

To the star 

Where it spins 

And is far 

As Beauty that wins! 

To an end 

Is never 

A way, 

And a day 

Is forever; 

To ascend 



The Shark and the Lark 977 

Is a goal 

Of the soul ; 

From Beauty that sleeps 

As it dies 

To Beauty that keeps 

To the skies 

Bend a wing, 

Strike a claw 

At the thing, 

Not to touch, 

Not to clutch 

At it, nor 

To have it to reap 

Or to keep 

To recompense 

Longing to glut 

Any sense, 

Any gut — 

Small what you get. 

All what you are 

To grow to yet. 

Yon crimson star 

Just to be 

Beauty the thing. 

Just to be 

The musical ring 

And gold-angled wing 

That you see 

As I fly 

Over sea 

Against sky — 

Just to be 

What you see 

Is in me, 



978 The Shark and the Lark 

Beauty the thing 
Of musical wing, 
Just to be 
Beauty to rise 
Over wind and sea, 
Over skies, 
Beauty to choose 
And to lose 
Just to be 
Beauty the thing 
Of philomel-ring. 
Star-spotted wing, 
Beauty to be! 



COR CORDIUM^ 

Did he not make the way to you pretty plain, 
Fme Shelley, and such heart-ring in his note 

To soar so high, then back again 

Just to set the soul of you afloat, 

And you would scarce look to see 

How he was love-lit and true and free? 

He took his one way to know what is true, 
Not your way nor any man's, so he came 

To be the self and whole of him too — 

What whirlwind behind a lip of flame ! 

Still scarce you looked and he was gone. 
He that was so much to look upon. 

You frowned because he would not beg nor simper 
Nor put a psalm-eyed face up — how odd 

He should pipe his lip without a whimper 
And he himself a whole human God ! 

There 's man to be, man to help. 

So why this meek smirking chancel-yelp? 

He was the man of him through and through 

To make for such free play as you see 
When a new star pricks the open blue 

To show there are more worlds yet to be. 
And, so, more man, one higher sort 

Than you have littled that he may be bought. 
' Inscription above the grave of Shelley. 
979 



• Cor Cordium 

How he was true — not a small thing mattered 
Nor great but he should be all he knew 

And straight to it, not as you scattered, 

And just for one Godlike love of you — 

As if a man shall not be 

Great as he may think to feel or see ! 

As if I am natured to button up 

This soul like a body in a jacket 
To suit your fashion, pelt and cup. 

You to pick the dough-mix so you may pack it, 
I to mark toe-time, tap to tap. 

Just inside the girdle of your strap ! 

Free as a bush-bird to wing about 

New sky-spaces for random to see 
And know and hang to for not a doubt. 

Like a white wind laps from sea to sea, 
And you thought your cowl-cage wide enough 

For him and his no-end of love, 

And he the philomel, clean out loud 

And flute-noted to such flash of song 

As streaked the heavens to split a cloud 
And you get the echo back so long 

As soulfulness and wholefulness may last. 

In spite of your mouth-mock and chancel-caste; 

He the white bream in a puddled sea. 

Would fling himself out to get more sight 

Which blinded soon as he looked to see. 
Like a star blinks with glut of Hght, 

Then plunged, as if for love of a grave 

And dark once more, in the pitfall wave. 



Cor Cord i urn 981 

The love of him, too, how that was full 

Like wind-warm June in a school of flowers 

It put there, one whole bosomful 

Of his best spring-song-sweeted hours ! 

Yet you would not hark, 'though his mouth was pearled, 
Passionate rejected lover of a world! 



AMONG THE MOONBEAMS 

What a night it was, now I passed 
Out through my cow-lane pointed east 
Into a meadow's moon-ended plot 
Of broken brooks — each bog was grassed 
And moon-lit to make a feast 
For hollow sheep or loriot ! 
I dogged a path which dogged a hedge 
That drew like a lasso 'round the place, 
As if to say, for once are you caught, 
You and your bog and moon and sedge 
For no escape from such sweet embrace. 
Whether you will or not ! 
The path was new with sea-spoon shells. 
Moon-spikes through them, while now and then 
The pink enamel would unfold 
To yellow and curl and close again 
Like a ring in a loop of marigold. 
Straight as a tulip night stood up. 
Each star dropped down one clear plumb line, 
Each flower was put like a careful cup 
To swallow such opulent shine 
As I have not seen in a wealth of years; 
All shapes of moon-born shadows 
Played with flowers in the meadows: 
Pea-bloom, wild hop, bryony; 
Suckle- vine toyed with peony; 
982 



Among the Moonbeams 983 

Bell-wether and bull-bells crossed tinkle, 

Heart-leap was through me, forest prime 

Was all ears up to catch the chime 

And dew-drip of amber sprinkle 

To hang a pearl from each harking leaf — 

The whole night outlook was past belief 

As I was headed to know not where 

Nor for what purpose I wandered there 

In the moon-painted air. 

So comes it and what is it, 

Such spirit-footed sense exquisite 

Will lead me, put me here or there, 

Ask not nor tell me why or how 

I duck to it my lowly bow. 

Go the one way I thought of least, 

Whether it be south or east, 

Most like a thrasher from bough to bough 

To never know one why or how, 

Save all things turn out best 

And he comes straight-safe to his nest? 

For there at the meadow-end 

Where my black pond-brook fetched a bend 

To circle and coil and straighten again, 

Like a serpent in a twist of pain, 

Stood the forest-edge, while just inside, 

As if she were trying her way to hide, 

Lo, my Rosalie! — who should think 

To find her there like a startled bird 

Caught bobbing at the gold-eyed brink 

Of night, my step once overheard — 

And then — what were night-eyes to me then? — 

Moon-lush in tulip-spoons were vain 

Now I could have my garnet-girl 

At her breath of love again ! 



984 Among the Moonbeams 

Down we sat in a clump of moss 

To not once think how it happened so 

That we should meet, what the meaning was, 

Thought not nor cared to know, 

Save what I saw in her cheek, 

How spirit looks what it may not speak, 

And I there with not one word 

I could unbottle more than a bird 

With not a note that was ever heard. 

Sat we heart in hand ; 

The stars outside were quite forgot. 

So were my moon-meadow-plot 

And hazel-flower, for one finer land 

Soul takes to, puts worlds aside — 

Night and all now try to hide 

And my sweet girl there, heart and hand, 

To prove the one truth — this is it : 

Beyond and above all mountain-spit 

To pinnacle of hollow air 

Is other and deeper Beauty spread, 

Soul-sense which put the planets there 

And all the spotted sky and red. 

Tucked a universe into space 

Of blue true head, eye-gold face. 

Yet will drop the keen crimson whole. 

Star-look, bryony, meadow-nowl 

For Beauty in one human soul, 

To show, for truth, how soul 

Makes finer than the finest whole. 

Everything about was changed. 

Lavender hedge, globird bob. 

Each brook-sweep got rearranged, 

My heart struck sharp as if to mob 

Breath out of me — call it weak. 



Among the Moonbeams 985 

Or love or life, what yoii will, 

The very soul of me was that still 

I could not speak, I could not speak! 

One myrtle-bush, by seeming hap, 

Stooped to toying at her lap. 

The which she plucked, forked the leaves 

On stems, like one who reeves and weaves, 

Yet not one word, scarce an eye 

My way, so sure she was and shy 

Of what she meant to do, while I 

Sat watching, throbbing, tried to weave 

One thought together to tell her — what? 

How I was all Forget- Her- Not 

And no other wish, no other thought, 

When — not one word I could guess to hear. 

Wondered if ever spirit spoke 

If freed once from here 

And its yester-yoke — 

Right where she sat and the moon plunged through 

To choke her cheek and to stay there too 

As I looked wounded that could not sip 

One little breath at the amber lip, 

She looped her chain of knotted leaf. 

Gave it one gentle toss and brief 

About my neck — there was no use, 

She had me in her myrtle-noose. 

Drew me to her that soft and shy 

And slow-like, but so surely, I, 

Now lost in her lips and arms and eyes 

And heart-rush, seized my prize. 

Could have laid me there to die 

Now I saw in her worded eyes and cheek 

How the angels know and you never speak. 



AT A WINDOW 

One sunbright morning 

Out of a cockle-shell sky- 
Spread like a tattooed awning, 

My Annabel and I 
In an east-window stood 

Up above the world so high 
We could look down where men arc glued 

To the turf, we could look up to the sky. 

Sun pelted the glass 

As spirit pelts you, 
Now to make green stripes pass, 

Now to get a quiver of blue, 
Till I thought: That way soul 

Plunges through me, through you. 
To get a shape which is new, 

Another kind of foot and nowl, 
Get a tone which is true, 

Finer than any green or blue, 
Unworlded and unbonded too. 

There were we in our window-nook 

To take one morning look, 
She to the world below 

For its pimple-fuss of show, 
Bronze on each papilio, 

Bubbles for their puff and blow, 
986 



At a Window 987 

I to look to my sky 

For the silence of it and size, 
Such worlds of far-sighted eyes, 

To think how far, how high ! 

Seemed it like we were made 

Each for the other that day. 
As at the window we played 

At thought, and I had this to say: 
Vast is the yonder to you, 

Mighty sky in gentle blue. 
More than you could fathom through — 

Is it, then, no part of you? 

But each little counts so much, 

One atom part of eternity, 
Yet is it less than I may see, 

Nothing that I may touch ! 
Mighty more is the soul in you, 

'Though it lie in mask, perdue. 

I love my swamp of sky, 

So far off, so endless high. 
Such triumph of sublimity. 

Not so much for such greatness there, 
For what climbs beyond starways fair. 

As that it points a new thing to see. 
Vaster than all magnality. 

Points me my soul in me. 

But she must look down to her world : 
There goes a man has been earled, 

Nails coppered, knuckles pearled. 
Head for most part occiput, 

Swings his little pulpit strut. 



988 At a Window 

Never larger than his rut 
He runs in, while he whispers " tut! " 

Now, then, now she looks 

Down to her world below 
For a smattering of Dukes, 

For their pig-track way they go, 
Spider- work, backs to bristle 

With the kindness of a thistle — 
What matters the cold soul in them 

If fire fire their pongee-gem? 

So much easier to look down. 

So much harder to look high. 

While there the blue circle of sky 
Rests like one perfect crown 

Of goldstones in p^^ramis 
Forever on all that is ! 

In the world are boons to be got. 

Pin-trinkets, garden plot. 
Moose-bird, clam and pot. 

Your world of God and slave. 
Your chance royal to play knave, 

Hell to threaten, Christ to save — 
Yet what goes high as high behavior, 

Each one his own God and Savior? 

She would let go my hand. 
Clutch at the underland 

While I held to my ground, 
Held to where I stood 

By the hold of a hound 
In my lifted mood ! 

Down she would go to earth 



At a Window 9^9 

For its one-day worth 
Of painted grass, 

Let my sky-fields pass. 

Overhead what was there much? 

Worlds with wings on, beyond clutch, 
Nothing she could taste or touch, 

And so to earth she will go, 
Tie to her kadamba tree 

For flowers overhead, to see 
How they fetch such yellow blow, 

Never to learn they do it 
By climbing from what is small, 

Just by climbing to it — 
There 's the secret of life and all ! 

That way so we parted ; 

Back to her world she went, 
Her ground from which she started. 

Left me to my firmament 
To look from my window alone. 

To look to my amber zone 
Where worlds have dwindled while soul has grown. 

Always will come to me that morning 

Under our tattooed awning. 
Her warm voice, her hand in mine, 

Her way she looked to me 
As if not meaning to see 

This leaf of columbine, 
The one she tossed to me 

As there she went her way — 
I sit at my window prone, 

Always to look to my amber zone, 
And so I look — but I look alone ! 



JEALOUS 

"I KNEW — I could see your look at him 
Through the finger-spread tree-box over the way; 
See you caliper-map him, limb and limb, 
Trace a soul out of clay. 

"Only a man on the outer rim 

To be mirrored and tape-measured 'round about; 

Coat and waistcoat filled spick to trim, 

Spirit left out. 

"To look at — which was all you could do — 
Such strong new face, heart mustered out, 
Was enough; his stone-cold features grew 
To be perfect, no doubt! 

"Next, I saw you drop your handkerchief, 
And stooping half over to pick it up 
You gave him a look past all belief. 
Fairly leered at the pup ! 

"You would rather keep one eye on him 
Than two hands on me ; so your world runs away 
At a dash on an idle whim, 
A woman's one way. 

"Is there the soul or half a gleam 
From head to heart of him, sifted through. 
To prop one thought of an idle dream 
Of his loving you? 

990 



Jealous 991 

"Is there not proof you watched for hours, 
Wrapped in a side window's green curtain fold, 
To see him stop to cradle you flowers 
By a blade made of gold? 

"Is there not proof your heart struck fast 
And sharp at the ribs of its prison cell 
To escape to seize him at last, 
Catch the lie he should tell ? 

"A tomtit perched in a blade of grass 

And you make of him more than the great could claim ; 

More than the soul of my singing has 

Is the chirp of his name. 

"Shall a man pass for more than he is 
Because nature rounded him up in the cheek, 
Tipped his lips hot to red as a kiss, 
But forbade him to speak? 

"I am convenient — to lean upon; 
Could set out a tree in the world, no doubt, 
Somewhat to think of when I am gone 
And the world finds me out. 

"The animal in him holds you fast, 
Like an anaconda unspirits a wren 
Till all his singing hour be past 
And snows dance again. 

"Fine bones new-made and his face is true. 
But sense and the heart of it, what of them? 
Think you the sun pencils red to blue 
Without piercing a gem? 



992 Jealous 

"And you, are you once wiser than he, 

That could link your luck to him, think him wise, 

See in him more than the saints could be, 

Nor a point to despise? 

" Make most of him, so, now you can; 
Time pinches, you shall be mine ere long; 
Power sticks to the man who is always a man ; 
Things fly to the strong." 

Next day he found her between two wings 
Of a forest edge in a summer light 
To bewail such power of earthly things 
To twist wrong out of right ; 

Sighing only — here was her thought. 
That Truth might claim him truly as she 
Who made him her love and her lot; 
He was hers — only he. 

She was all for him — love made it so ; 
No thought nor look meant for other men ; 
"One day, not far off, he shall know, 
When my heart sings again." 

Love lives alert, like any valued thing; 
A nest to loot and ravish — always 't was so, 
All as this pompon rose will drive a sting, 
Frost prick through the snow. 

That way a man shall be whipped into form, 
Like a seashell pitches each pretty key 
From ocean's thunder-strokes of pelt and storm 
To hand me melody ! 



AT THE ALTAR 

I 

The church was rich. So, too, was the priest; 
Moonstones in his knuckles, 
Half a dozen there at least; 
One silver bunch of buckles 

At his wrist 

Which he kissed, 
For they fastened souls, and so 
There was Beauty in each claw- jaw and tentacle and toe. 

II 

The place was bright. So, too, was the priest; 
Cunning in his teaching. 
And of reason, what a feast! 
Such power was in his preaching 

There was dread 

When he said: 
Give what you have, or cherish 
Small hope of putting wing above the tumble-bugs that perish. 

Ill 

The people, they were poor as a straw, 
Stuck to life by hoping 
They could one day fill his craw 
By steadfast fast and moping, 
63 993 



994 At the Altar 

Keeping poor 

To be sure 
Of their chance of Heaven the way 
He told them of — no hope for him who would not fast and pay. 

IV 

At the altar, which was malachite, 
Jasper-jawed, gold-beaded 
To lend just that pomp and might 
His stupid doctrine needed, 

He would kneel 

To appeal 
For more power, more gold, and so 

He kept the peoples' pockets poor who kneeled and feared 
him so. 



One day came little Ida, each cheek 
Poor and white for wasting. 
Scarce a lip to her to speak. 
Scarce more she got than tasting, 

Crossed her hands 

Like two bands 
Of pale silk at the back of her. 

So the father might not look to see how white and thin they 
were. 



As at the altar she took her stand, 
Now the crowd was pressing, 
Dropped a guinea in his hand, 
Then knelt to get his blessing — 



At the Altar 995 

You could see 

Surely she 
Had given all — not a sou 
Was left to her that night to i)ull the little body through. 

VII 

Poor child — but God knows his way, be sure, 
Knows your knuckles glisten, 
Knows each way you rob the poor. 
Then pray, smirk, thumb and listen. 

Have a care. 

Father Snare, 
You '11 hand it back by inches 
In a land where justice waits to pinch it out of you by pinches! 

VIII 

Your church — there it flies towards Heaven, 

Makes one rainbow orbit 

Not higher than the clouds even. 

And you think so much of it 

With its girth 

Back to earth. 
Like an arrow rises to dip, 

To spread the wings of an angel — there 's poison there at the 
tip! 



IX 



At the altar next I saw them lay 
Little Ida Lowly, 
Hands crossed till Judgment Day, 
The great gong said it slowly — 



996 At the Altar 

Gentle bells, 

Sorrow bells, 
For right where the rain was mobbing 

They laid her down by nightfall — there the heart of Heaven 
was sobbing. 



SWORD AND PEN 

Put up the sword, 

Pick up the pen, 

Trickle one word 

To the world again ; 
Whether the ink be fire, blood or dew, 
Dip it in, you and you! 

Take up the pen. 

Take off the sword. 

Write it again 

To a last red word; 
Again and again, prick with the pen 
Till it stick into men. 

Thou Shalt not kill! 

There is your word ! 

Thou shalt not spill 

One drop of his blood. 
That brother of yours with love of light, 
With life for his right. 

Settle it now 

Blood has been spilt; 

Let your new vow 

Blaze up to the hilt: 
Peace in the world, good will to men! 
Stick it in with the pen ! 
997 



99^ Sword and Pen 

What is there great, 

What fine or brave 

To topple your mate 

To an early grave, 
Running the boundary line of states 
By the blood of your mates? 

What shall ye say 

Who snatch an hour 

To spar for play 

With the thrones of power? 
What shall ye answer the great All Good 
That have scattered his brood? 

One whole life 

For you or me 

Caught on a knife 

In a blood-red sea 
Where youth was slain — and your world plods on 
With the best of it gone ! 

Men noble bom 

Struck from the roll. 

Men that had worn 

A God in their soul — 
Too bad their young true hearts were spilled, 
That they had to be killed! 

Stretch one strong hand 

Out to the pole, 

Gather in land, 

Dominion the whole — 
More is a breath of brotherhood worth 
Than your blood-spattered earth. 



Sword and Pen 999 

Gather men in 

To think and do 

As you, without sin, 

To learn what is true 
By thinking your way — kill half of them off 
For labor of love ! 

They that remain 

Must take your way, 

Speak, in the main, 

Walk as you say ; 
And the land— let not your good other hand 
Overlook the sweet land! 

Kill half of them off, 

Ye of the blest, 

Slaughter enough 

To rescue the rest 
From serving the Devil by being free 
To unyoke and to see. 

The savage way, 

A fierce first plan 

Which tore its fray 

In the heart of Man; 
Will never some kindliness take its place 
To gentle a race? 

Kill for Right, 

Then count the Wrong! 

Right without Might 

Makes the sweet new song; 
Kill for your kings — love will be born 
When their kingdoms are gone. 



looo Sword and Pen 

Death to what 's true, 
Graves for your love, 
And what will ye do 
In the end thereof? 

Better true and kind than wise or great 

In your wooing of Fate. 

Strike with the pen 

Till tears be shed; 

Plunge it again 

Till your wrongs be dead; 
The dagger that kills without a wound — 
Stick it in, turn it 'round! 



DE AMICITIA 

So you want her, 

So she wants you, 
While I 'm too old to be loved, you think, 
So only one thing remains to do, 
I must give her up, break the link 
By which I hang to hope, 
Put her out of my thought and scope, 
Turn me to other aims and ends 
Just because I and you are friends! 

I am too old to be loved, you say — 

Yet am I never too old to love. 

So out of God's wonderful Enough 

There must be a heart and day 

For me — love will have its way 

Of going where it is wanted; 

Love by love is held and haunted 

In spite of your cheek of cream 

And damask, or your young puppy-dream. 

Yet are you all my friend, 

While here am I with my love of you 

To make the best of me in the end, 

Do what is noblest in me to do 

For love of it and for love of you, 

'Though it split the heart I have in two 



I002 De Amicitia 

I keep for her — there 's your test 
Of love: do your God-royal best, 
Kind Cosmos do the rest. 

So yester eve I did this thing: 

I took me to our lady's bower 

Where she toyed like a sapphire flower 

With sweet in the end of spring; 

I begged her to think of you, 

I begged her to let me pass 

For a strip of withered grass, 

I old, while there were you 

In boy-buttons, moulded new, 

Nor a thought that could sculpture losses 
Cheek-deep, put crosses 
Over each eye as if for sign 
To lure you to look higher 
Than this world's gizzard-desire, 

Seize upon power divine, 
So I pleaded with her for you 

How you were spirit-true, 
Strong and new. 

So I sang of you while she listened, 
While as I begged her to know 
You were perfect while I was not so. 
There her cheek mantled, eye glistened 
So I could see her soul dart forth 
Like a new star out of the north 
As on I went gaining ground, 
Telling her no man could be found 
Manly like you in the world around, 



De Amicitia 1003 

As snug in her bower she stood 

Like a lapwing nests in a bunch of flowers 

For courage to her startled mood 

And I grew, telling of your powers, 

Warmer, keener, oh how I sang 

Praises of you till the sweet air rang 

At her ears for bell and bell 

Till the pink helix stood there to tell 

Her whole soul, like an ocean shell. 

Her true warm eyes straight at me. 

Each flutter as if she would fly my way, 

Her Beauty all a man could see. 

Her Spring-look one whole year of May 

As on I went to tell her true 

How you were for her just, she just for you, 

What light path and bright weather 

Life makes for those who love together. 

How she must not lose one look of you. 

For love is not in the world too much, 

Love like yours — I told her how 
Fortune favors young love's vow 
Of heart to heart and two souls in touch. 
And — now as I talked I saw. 
As I thought, how her heart was longing for 

You just, when straight she came 
To where I stood, spoke my name, 
Her two lips like a breath of flame, 

Put her wide eyes to me 
So soul-true, whole heartfully, 
This one thought flashed past : I knew 
She was not thinking once of you, 



I004 De Amicitia 

But of me — there she stood 
Like the violet waiting to be wooed — 
Now was there no mistaking 
The old sign and new waking — 
She was mine there for the taking ! 

What was for me to do? 
I had done my best for you 
Clean to the bitter end — 
So true to you was I for friend 
I knew not another thought save you — 
So that way 't was I won her, 
And not a speckle on my honor — 
Yet you have this always, my friend, 
I did my best for you to the end. 



KINGS AND QUEENS 

Your fashion- way was one way 

To take him to task 

In under your mask — 

I remember that Sunday 

You gave pout to him to have him feel 

He must, to capture you, come to kneel 

For love to 3^our stubborn heel. 

Your one way of rtilishness, 

Since you had it so in you 

To be master — your few 

Stop to stoop to ghoulishness 

Of the claw kind, their whole way of love 

Is lording it just to perch above — 

The vulture and not the dove. 

Have a look at it for square 

And the price you pay 

On a quarter-day 

For what but to pin him there 

As a puffin will fork a snow-gnat through. 

That you may have him to monarch to 

To bring him to love of you. 

Is the thing between you this, 
To see who shall rule 
To a gulletful 

.t y 
1005 



ioo6 Kings and Queens 

Look at it once in a sense-head way, 
This kingliness, will it one half pay 
For the love you lost that day? 

You took him to be your man, 

And a man is not 

By the common lot 

Less than God made him, a man 

To govern you in his soulful way, 

Since there is the man in him each day 

For mastership in his way. 

But you had your one way, too, 

To master by might 

Of another right, 

A way which was meant for you, 

One way of love and of yielding-to. 

Which would bring him to his whole love of you 

To keep, if you only knew. 

He for master by his plan 

Of the outward show 

Just to have it so, 

You for mistress to lead your man 

By spirit forces so deeplier set 

That he should follow and not forget, 

Since love is his master yet. 

Suppose you to pen him close 

Like a game-cock you clap 

In a slatted trap 

To bring his beak to his toes. 

The foot and fang of him you will thwart, 

But what about that fine other part 

You tried for, his soul and heart? 



Kings and Queens 1007 

Will you pen them too, perchance, 

To take to your will 

Like a daffodil 

You twitch from a nest of plants? 

Will you bend soul for a satin spray 

To bow to you of an April day, 

Or win it by love's one way? 

If you could would you have it so 

To crush the wild flower 

Of love in an hour 

For rulership so you could know 

You held your man by a ring in his nose, 

An eye of glass to not see how he knows 

A thorn from its velvet rose? 

You had him to love you once, 

Yet you played your part 

By a withered heart, 

The head of a dimpled dunce 

To lose him by just your thimble swing 

Of will at him, you to pinch and sting 

Like a frost-bite late in Spring. 

Not yield? — is it weak to yield 

Since you drew him on 

Like a poupeton 

Where his love cried out and kneeled 

To do your least will, to catch one nod 

Of a wish he could grant you above sod? — 

To love is to rule with God. 

Did you not yield that day 
I could see you creep 
Up your hillside steep 
For love of a month of May 



ioo8 Kings and Queens 

To where one yellow-bell had begun 
To duck to you through a mottled sun 
Just as your day was done 

That you might stoop to it to kneel 

To give it a twist 

At the slender wrist, 

Tuck it in your breast-band, feel 

How the flower had conquered you — you knew 

What gentleness it turned to you, 

How it nodded and yielded too 

To snug in your inmost breast 

To be borne about 

For safe above pout, 

Toe- trample, smite and the rest; 

There 's love to win when the claw is down ; 

Head under if you would wear a crown ; 

Love will be off at your frown ! 



PHILOSOPHER AND PRIEST 

Come, go with me, friend and would-be saint! 
Stop thumbing prayers, but come with me; 

Let go your flaps. 

Drop creeds and scraps. 
Try once to fancy how you are free 
While we whistle an hour and a half 

At the wind and its chaff. 

Down to the sea's old rub and swink — 
Stop bending thought, heaven is wide; 

Stand straight as a God 

By the gaping sod! 
To the beach, let us follow the tide 
And crooning wail of the sea 

As you listen to me ! 

How you shuffle to slink by the way 
Two to three lengths of a thought behind! 

What is to fear? 

God made you a peer; 
Step front, full of breast and mind! 
Whip into line straight as a thread, 

Step wholly ahead! 

Scoop a handful of sand at your feet ! 

The sea has clinched with a dog-tooth shore 

Till mountains are dust 

At whims of a gust. 
Or drool to cobble an ocean's floor; 
1009 



loio Philosopher and Priest 

While just there in the palm of your hand 
Is a grape-growing land. 

Eery wave chums flint into wine ! 

Quit pinching sand, there 's nothing there! 
Look up and about, 
Truth 's caught by a doubt ! 

Let 's be looking for love and a care; 

Not half of an atom of space 

Is dropped out of the race. 

Were you thinking truth stood still, 
That tenets of dogma, creed, 

Make first or last 

Of all that is cast 
In souls of an infinite need? 
Sooner think, for sooner the sand 

Will snatch truth from your hand. 

From rock to wine, from wine to blood, 
From burning blood to burning soul. 

And the thought comes quick 

'T is an infinite trick. 
These heavens but an edge of the scroll, 
Your sight but the gaze of the dead 

At worlds overhead. 

One touch of knowledge no heart could bear; 
Ye cannot know, ye would not know. 

Save soul is there 

In the outer air 
Where seasons neither come nor go, 
Nor any sky nor thing I see 

Greater than the soul in thee. 



Philosopher and Priest ion 

By stooping low, by mouthing mocks 
Will ye breathe as the wings of a dove? 

The lounge of a sphinx, 

Lunge of a lynx 
Strike nearer home in the heart of love; 
Strip an air from the soul of your wren 

As he rises again ! 

Mark you yonder pretty-hearted child 
Prattling, spattling at coddled sand! 

Of such, am I told. 

Of such is the fold 
In a kingdom of some kinglier land; 
She will not lift an eye nor lower a knee, 

But breathes divinity. 

Stay here to watch her a while! 

One small white grave she digs in the sand — 

But she may not know 

What the grave is, so 
She keeps on digging, song in hand; 
One more thrust of the surf will lave 

Her white heart in its grave. 

Will you call her back, tell her good 
Or evil ; show her sham or shame ; 

Or a world impart 

To such sweet young heart 
To see it wilt between frost and flame? 
Or leave her there to an ocean's sod 

And the welcome of God? 

How close behind her that last sea struck ! 
She never hears one savage blow ; 



IOI2 Philosopher and Priest 

Will you leave her there 

To the endless care 
Of waves weighed down by breast of snow, 
Or snatch her away to let her learn 

Souls both freeze and burn? 

To clapping of hands in the sand 
Do you think she would ever return, 

Or once retrace 

Step or grace 
Of childhood's kingdom of unconcern? 
Or wander once back within reach 

Of shouts of the beach? 

One short step now and Heaven is hers; 
Will you hold her here where tenets die? 

Would it seem to you 

There could be two 
Diverging paths to a single sky? 
Her perfect heart — while what will you do 

Now choice is with you? 

Afraid there might be a mistake? 
What you think right may be wrong? 

Is wrong, then, flower 

Of infinite power, 
Short words to an endless song? 
Tear the soul from a note of your wren 

As he carols again ! 

Is such question too long for thought? 
Will reason not fathom it out? 

Yet you shall decide 

Ere a sweep of the tide 
Take her off where there 's neither faith nor doubt. 



Philosopher and Priest 1013 

Slow truth speak quick ere the small pink hand 
Reach for God in the sand ! 

Tap your Nicene knowledge again, 
Faith of the fathers, lore on lore. 

Yet ye shall not know 

If to stay or go 
Be not all the same on the farther shore. 
Little I see, whatnot or whatso, 

While nothing I know. 

Fine faith, too, will give you the slip, 
Since faith soars higher than level thought; 

Is there no way out 

Of your cloud of doubt. 
Nor sharper trap by which truth is caught? 
Look again once how her small blind hands 

Make love to the sands! 

Not by knowing; not, too, by faith; 
Drop an ear to strokes of the heart 

Ringing out chime 

Through fire and rime 
And not heard above knowledge, gold and art; 
Think once of the waste and blame of it! 

Oh, think of the shame of it! 

Get truth, then, straight as it is: 

A child's new laugh rings out on the beach, 

While not at the nod 

Of command from a God 
Would you let it die out of your reach; 
Thumb creed, thunder God as you will, 

Love is sovereign still ! 



IOI4 Philosopher and Priest 

Look how the tide now turns away 
To leave her there to clasping sun ! 

Is it wonder, then, 

The hearts of men 
Should find their labor of love well done? 
Take her up, clasp her close, for right there 

Is your "love and a care." 

All stars are double; world to world 
The cHnging atoms know their places; 

Not the smallest grain 

Of such vast domain 
But seeks a mate out of conscious spaces; 
How her soul's eyes look you through and through, 

And the image of you ! 

She will draw you back to your heart again, 
Lead you out into spirit-land; 

Hold her fast for dear 

Since an end is near, 
You '11 go together, hand in hand! 
In earth below, in worlds above. 

What is life without love? 



KNOW THY MATE 

Three men sat at their after-dinner: 
"I am your professional sinner," 

Said one, "and no new-born beginner!" 
Look twice, just to take notice of that 

For clean confession worth looking at! 

"You may put me down for another, 
Your Sir Rank professional brother 

To the toe-end, to puff or smother," 

Said the second, as he spit one stripe 

Of blue smut from his orange pipe. 

"I 'm worth counting, by Heaven above. 
So count me out of your demon love ! 

This world's red-handed rough enough 

For my taste," spoke the third, now he took 

His side-seat and flabbergasted look. 

Dined they together — and they had dined! 

Priest never better dined and wined 
Or felt his hide so supremely lined 

Of mud-shad in red radish sauce, 
Enough to stuff a dozen craws! 

Number One 

Your life, and what is it after all 

But tapers down to the small end small, 
One certain spread of one curtain-pall? 
1015 



ioi6 Know Thy Mate 

Or what will you more in your term 
Than fetch a twist of the trodden worm? 

Number Two 

So I say too — truth in that thinking! 

Little use of honest swinking I 
Comes not life of eating and drinking? 

So shall it end when that ends too, 
Sure as belly 's the best of you! 

Number One 

To the drinks, then, that never we boast 
Of virtue, of our surviving ghost! 

King be the man who shall clutch the most! 
High wine for a warming to start 

The bloodhound in this red-hot heart! 

Number Two 

Here 's to the woman one man holds true ! 

She 's mine, if I can get her, too. 
To show how great I can be and do, 

And odds to you there in the corner — 
You shall play lap-dog and first mourner! 

Number One 

Good enough that for a lord to say ! 

Am I not moulded to have my day 
And there 's the dog in me to pay? 

Whichever way you probe to know, 
Put peg in here : God made it so ! 

Number Two 

Right again, pal, so now for a pull! 
Drown my glass to the nozzle full 



Know Thy Mate 1017 

For health to our corner puff-ball fool 

Of high mind — a health to him now, 
Him of the ethical temple-brow ! 

Number Three 

But slowly to what you are training for! 

"Give and take" governs for common law, 
So coward he who shall yelp or yaw! 

He who gives, he too shall take. 
Just for pleasant manner's sake! 

Number Two 

That time for once and you hit it right ! 

No cowards we, afraid of light. 
But we give and take, we friend or fight. 

And not a nerve of us to flinch 
Once we feel our own brogans pinch ! 

Number One 

Drink to her picture, for here it is! 

The woman I was not bom to miss, 
Who gives me her best bottled-up kiss ! 

Her picture! Mark the starbeam there 
Tucked in her forest of citron hair! 

One look from me and she came my way 
As my pet bird will, to show how gay 

She could perch and coo when once astray 
To flutter in my columbine — 

I touched her wing and she was mine ! 

Number Two 

Scoundrel ! The picture there 's my wife ! 

Now, by Heaven, we come to the knife, 



ioi8 Know Thy Mate 

And you pay back by your vulture-life! 

To arms, and we fight it out here, 
As hell is black and this life is dear! 

Number Three 

Not so fast! You are not beginners, 

But hide-bound old professional sinners, 

The catch-all tribe of women- winners, 
So why such ado about this, 

Only one blundrous slip amiss? 

Number Four 
(Wife) 

Well said, as next to your booth I heard 

How your honor was piqued and stirred, 

So many fangs to one small word, 
And only a wife to tell 

How you lighted her way to hell ! 

My lover was never you. 

But he is there in the next booth too. 
His broken heart in his drunken stew! 

As for your soul, do not unearth it, 
For truth is this truth — I am not worth it! 



BLOODHOUNDS OF THE CZAR 

This was the Czar of Russia, 

His country to rule or crush her — 
What say you, or what say I 
Now a king 
Knows the right and wrong of a thing, 
If a man shall live, if a man shall die? — 
Is there not Rome or Prussia 
To example a way 
Of Power-play? — 
Enough for the Czar of Russia ! 

People are dogs one way, 

So he thought; 
They love to be schooled, 
To be rod-ruled 
So their hides and heels may be taught 
As well as their souls to obey 
One king alone, 
One whip-cord throne — 
Now for how he did it 
By quirk and quiddit! 

You know a people could never be 

Greater than their king, His Majesty, 
Could not be freer than he was, 
Be more liberal to a cause, 
'T would never do. 
Or he must chop their loftiness in two — 
1019 



I020 Bloodhounds of the Czar 

Did they not take him for king 
To give them laws? 
Could they once ever take to wing 
For nobler cause, 
For wider swing? 

Mark how a king is slave 
Just so much as his people is, 

Like I am handcuffed to a knave 
To hold him so I may not miss 

My prisoner — there am I 
Prisoner too, and sigh for sigh 

To go his way, take his twitch, 
Join him in each jump and hitch — 

With him I learn to flinch. 
Without him I may not budge an inch ! 

Finland was one happy pappy land, 
The people were alive 
As hornets in a hive 
To understand 
What a thing it is to be 

Unkingdomed, wholly free 
To do the thing a man is born to do 

And not a check from church or state or you, 
To sing and soar and think 
And no master, not a wink. 

It came to pass one early summer day. 

Now school was out, children were at play, 

Came pretty Princess Belle Anne to her task 
To teach — she had torn away the mask 

To do and be her noblemost she was. 

So came to teach the children to be free. 



Bloodhounds of the Czar 102 1 

To strike against a monarchy of laws, 

To shout the highest human cause 
Men think of or ever was, 

One noble Independency. 

She taught them to be men outright, 

To make their way 
To think each thought out day and day. 

How the only king in the world is Right — 
Taught them not to pray, but to do 

The thing a man should be manful at 
For fear of neither God nor you 

And to keep their whole heart fast to that — 
Quick to love, quick to hate 
Power which strikes to dominate. 

One day the sun was streaming. 

New clouds were teeming 
With new eyes, lips, cheeks, 
One look by which the whole heaven speaks — 
School was out. 
One heard the blue round air 
Ring for happy-hearted shout, 
Wishfulness was everywhere 
In tree-bird, bee-bower, 
Copple-crown flower. 

Our Princess now took her way 

To one fountain in the woods 
To watch the sun-bubbles play 
Like puckles in silver hoods 

As there she stood to think, 
By the fountain-brink, 
How each tiny water-drop is free 
To break the chain which binds it to the sea, 



I02 2 Bloodhounds of the Czar 

To leap sky-ways, spread each wing 
Which takes its own shape and coloring 

Of iris or plain white, 
Such elegance and such free leap, 

Who knows but a thousand eyes for sight 
And soul to puncture the deep, 

Poise in mid-most air, like soul. 
Then drop to float about the whole 

Slave race of waters, large and by. 
Then the one little peaceful sigh 

Where it breaks in two, joins the sky 

Sudden, as there she thought ^ 
If life counts great, counts not, 

Watched one oquassa leap 
To pluck a bubble in its sleep. 

There by just an edge of the wood 
One superbest man-shape stood — 

What for the straight strong eye 
To look one way nor question why. 

One topmost sky-round brow 
To plan kingdomy and know how 

To make his mark as good as his vow, 

You never saw another 
Such masterful mastiff-brother — 

And, very truth, such was his forte, 
The King's prime favorite at court. 

His bloodhound, for such he was 
To Machiavellize new cause 

For iron-hearted laws. 

Force-foremost, anything 
To make him master and real king. 



Bloodhounds of the Czar 1023 

All in him went to convince — 

His stahvartage, each action, 
That composed self-satisfaction 

We see in the Bloodhound-Prince — 

What for now 
And he dropped her his princely bow, 

Begun to speak, 
The powerful against the weak, 

And she 
Heart-bound by his supremacy 

Of kind courage, trappy care 

Which took her captive there ! 
By an edge of the fountain 

With its water-mountain 
Stood he handsome-straight, 

A pillar of state, 
Nor knew her, who she might be, 

Save for the stamp of royalty 
Put plainly there 
In her sweet stateliness and Princess-air. 

Nor knew she who he was, 

Magistrate or master of laws. 
But just such ideal kind 

Of man she took to mind 
In her young day when youth dreams 

And life is only what it seems. 
The two of them were drawn together 

Under the branches which seemed high 
As heaven, like mating of earth and sky. 

Nor asked they why or whether. 

Oh, it was love. 
Nought less, nothing above — 



I02 4 Bloodhounds of the Czar 

Was not that enough 
That they were so plainly made 

Each for the other as tree and glade? 
It was love and he said it, 

And she was there to dread it 
And love too, as well he knew 

How to break her will in two. 
To hold her raptured and fastened too. 

Right at the nook of a cranny-neb 

Stood she watching one spider-web 
The fountain sprayed with dew 
Till a thousand eyes of greenish blue 

Raptured and fastened her too — 
Straight she looked, yet never saw 
Snare in it or cunning paw 

Or what such eyes were looking for, 
Never once thought of it nor spied 

The trick of the spider snug inside ! 

So too into his eyes she looked 

Where the destinies of men were booked, 
Far-reaching eyes, as if they were given 

To pick the lock of Heaven — 
Into his eyes — love was there 

For good and fair — 

The great man strong and weak. 
She all power over him to see 

How spirit flew to his lips, and he 
No power to speak. 

"Ha! I 'm the Princess Belle Anne you see! 

Many a man would capture me. 
For I hate the Czar, I teach the young 

To stay their hand, to loose their tongue 



Bloodhounds of the Czar 1025 

For freedom — always I said 

'Never a drop of blood be shed' — 
Always I said Law intended 

Love and Justice should be blended — 
Yet look you out wide and far 

You 'U not find one so hates the Czar. " 

"God, is it so?" — the strong man weak 

Now found forty lips to speak: 
"Save thyself! — this day I gave 

Command that whoso taught 
Ruction or blasphemous treason-thought 

Finds pitfall in a grave! 
Look to yourself — the sweet air 

Spits poison, subtle death 
Lurks in each lilac-breath 

For none to spare!" 

"Not so," she answered, now she saw 

The man in him of power and law 
To prop a kingdom, hang his star 

Higher and brighter than the Czar — 
"Not so, but look you to you 

To save yourself — your liberty 
Is forfeit if harm come to me — 

Look you, too, how I can save 
Finland and you 
From one dungeon-grave! 

"Finland, my happy land, people brave, 
And there you made it into a grave 

Of loud heart and freedom 

To build your throne by force-decreedom ! 



65 



I026 Bloodhounds of the Czar 

Yet is the fault not yours — you were trained 

To mastership by small ways, 
To keep in mind your king always, 

Your people to beguile 
By sops, by pearls of smile, 

^ You underhearted, overbrained. 

"Yet will I save 
Finland and you from one dungeon-grave" — 

Right as she spoke 
Gendarmes through the forest broke 
' To take her — there before his eyes, 

My lord-minister, she was seized, 

To his furious surprise. 
King's prisoner now in spite 

Of my lord's ministerial might. 
Whether he was pained or pleased. 

Next day in the market-place 

The people came — 
One would think a whole human race 

Was there to claim 
Right of sovereignty, for so it was, 

They were there for one human cause, 

A free thought, free part. 

Free play for head and heart — 
Their Goddess was Princess Belle Anne, who said: 
"Never a drop of blood be shed!" — 

And she in prison — so 
They voted to seize their man 

Of power behind the throne — 
Nor sooner said than done, for lo. 

Our minister meantime was grown 
Impatient to see and know 



Bloodhounds of the Czar 1027 

What meant such thousands in one place, 
So marched to the front to show his face 

When, lo, they seized him — he too was sent 
Into the Hke imprisonment. 

Loved and lover in one jaw, 

One for making, one for breaking law — 
Yet stranger yet to tell, 

Side by side, cell to cell 
They were put prisoners by chance 

And none knew such curious circumstance 
Save themselves — they knew, 

So kept the secret between them two 
To talk the night out — each saw 

How the other loved above kings and law — 

How love is an only mistress to rule, 

Royallest government, highest school — 
There he said: 
"Never I knew how the people are 

Genuine bloodhounds of the Czar, 
How, too, so easily they are led 

If you hold them in check 
By smile and beck 
Of your single sentence so kindly said: 
Never a drop of blood be shed!" 

"To-morrow," she answered, "you shall see 

How my people love and do for me — 
They shall love and do for you too 

If you bear them love, treat them true — 
For now at a word from me 

Mark you they will set me free — 
At another word they will turn to, 

Burst your bars, free you too 



I028 Bloodhounds of the Czar 

On my word for it you are to be 
Their first friend eternally. 

"Trained are you in your school of head — 

Friend, this world has another part, 

One truth all too lightly said: 
Everything most is thought, 

Everything is taught and wrought 
Save only this human heart, 

Yet is there no power in sight 
Which has its compass-range for might 

Of conquest to rule so fully. 
To hold men so trued and truly." 

Now the voices of the two are still — 

How heart reaches to heart and calls 
Through iron-fisted walls ! — 

Outside sang the whippoorwill. 

Sun poked in through the bars. 

Love was there at the morning hour, 

Not once imprisoned, scorning power 

And the threat of a thousand Czars — 
My lord-minister knew he saw 

Love makes first and final law, 

For just that morning the people came, 

Broke her chain, set her free. 
So now she spoke like a breath of flame : 

"The man, your prisoner, is my man there, 
He is life and heart and soul of me — 

Break you his bonds nor spare 
A breath of you till you set him free — 

On this you may depend. 
He is to be your foremost friend 
On to the onward end!" 



Bloodhounds of tlic Czar 1029 

An instant more and there he stood 

In the midst of one trusting multitude, 
Her arms 'round him — you know how 
A woman seals her mighty vow 
Of her mighty heart, 
Her host of Heaven, eyes vSO wide and true, 
As if the soul of her would depart 

To come and dwell in you — 
There my strong man stern 
Bent him to give her his love in turn 

Till the people, to girl and boy. 

Broke wild in their leap of joy 
That they should now have a friend at court 

Just by the gentle Belle Anne's forte 
Of love — wrong was to righten. 

Greatness to grow, burden to lighten — 
What for a king is love 

To rule so we 're never ruled enough. 
For see how Finland has prospered since 

And never the chop-lick of a Prince! 



DEATH 



How beautiful a thing is death 

With its other breath, 
Soul's opportunity for being 

Beyond light, beyond seeing, 
To have without showing, 

To go without knowing 
Which way or whereto. 

To summon the whole heart of you 
To greatness, put to test 

Your ground-grit and very best! 
Like a storm to overwhelm, 

How it puts you to the helm ! 
As in life, so in death 

Leastly counts the flying breath. 
Mostly counts the man. 

What he is, what he can — 
By the power he overthrows. 

By that much he gains and grows — 
So take this look at death. 

Anyone who reasoneth. 
To see in it a power 

Tries to match a man each hour — 
Something to overcome 

Gives him speech, strikes him dumb, 
1030 



Death 1031 

Rounds him up to hit or miss, 

Lets him find out what he is 
So that he may not flee it, 

But keep his clinch to be it ! 
Each man so shall have his chance 

To outweather circumstance 
Just by force of what he is, 

Since nothing was made to miss 
For one who shall keep his way 

Of masterhood, make his day 
Of value, do what he can 

As heartful and mostful man 
By way of Beautiful Right 

For love of it, keep no Heaven in sight, 
He his own integral might 

Of self-sublimest man 
On some supersolar plan. 

Beyond penalties, beyond rewards, 
To conquer untoward odds, 

He a whole God among the Gods. 

What is there a man may bring 

His life to to make him king 
But counter-blows to draw 1 

His sparks, plant his meteor 
Above what he sees around 

In grub- work or lap-dog ground? 
Death comes — did you chance to think 

Nothing is over the brink? 
But look how death is enough 

To force you to look above 
Griff-life, stomach-dower. 

Each little wanton hour! 
There 's the supremest power 



1 032 Death 

And providence of death 
To show how nothing is in a breath, 

How everything is in soul 
Bent on being the rounded whole! 



She laid her down to die 

Of an evening-morning, 
Before Aurora could warn the sky 

Of any dawning; 
Beautiful my garden-flower-girl was; 

Harken to what she said, 
Stop a moment just because 

Such another moment and she was dead. 

Dew-light was on the grass 

Of her pasture-lawn, 
Where yesterday just I saw her pass 

And turn to look upon 
Each fly-leaf and dandelion breast. 

Then on her mill-bank brook. 
Her flock of wrens and all the rest, 

As if she knew it was her last look. 

About her house and mill 

Quiet was, night-sweet too; 
The moon leaned in at her windowsill, 

It was dying too 
As there she turned her sweet face aside, 

One look more, her best and last, 
And so she blossomed and died 

Like the flower she was, and her life was past. 

We saw her eyes were set, 

Saw, too, the moonbeams came 



Death 1033 

To nest in them as if to beget 

Sight Hke a leap of fiame 
To look beyond what the others see 

To what is true and fair, 
More than mere humanity, 

More than the life of worlds out there. 

Such was her simple life 

She never knew a way 
But honest thought, wholesomest strife 

Her day after day 
To do her best her whole heart could 

Nor ever complain, 
Lived for just her love of good, 

Nor came once a thought of the after-gain. 

Just a little flower-girl 

As you of tenest sec ; 
'Round her temples danced lock and curl 

In jubilee, 
As straight to her cheek her heart would rush 

Like jumping to tell 
How sky too, by one morning blush, 

Proves you all heaven is all heart as well. 

Her life she gave to do 

What most she could her way 
To make the noblest of what she knew 

Each day upon day, 
Her little cares to make mightiest thought, 

Her task to be done 
If it profited her or not. 

And what is there soulfuller under the sun? 



I034 Death 

Each day I saw her take 

Armfuls of flowers to town 
For love of them, not for the pittance' sake 

Of her half crown 
To keep life up, for there was her love 

Of Beauty, like a bee 
Will hover about and above 

His flower for only the blush to see. 

Not for hunger and thirst 

Was a part of an hour 
But they came last. Beauty stood first 

For perfectest power, 
Nor storm could whistle to pipe a threat 

Should put her aside. 
Never whimper nor regret, 

As so she turned to her moon and died; 

Died the way of the great, 

Proof-pointed against Power 
To put the soul out of reach or date, 

Her poise of a flower 
To kiss the storm just to pocket sweet 

Nor be blown aside. 
Never knew a moment's defeat 

As there she turned to her moon and died. 



NOT SO QUICK! 



Slowly, my son — 't is a trick of truth 

Half times to play one pretty trick with youth 

As it flutters by, 
Half to find what love is all about, 
More to watch a peach-lipped maiden pout 
Now she knows you heard her sigh. 

I saw you, you sly one, last night late 
Stuffed in between a girl's cape and the gate 

To bolt out the moon, 
As if you feared, in your next embrace, 
Sky would peek in to find her face 
Like an evening's cheek in June. 

Leaning out over my window-ledge 
I saw you lift just a hand to pledge 

Her your finest word. 
When I tapped the sill — my moon was there 
To stalk about with a careless air — 
You stopped where you thought you heard 

What might have been spirit-raps laid light 
To warn you to keep an eye on night 

At her clever tricks 
To cover faults by a piece of veil, 
Or turn dark soul-spots into pale 
As moon in her silver flix. 
1035 



1036 Not So Quick 

For by what she said — I know her way — 

You thought you could trust to her dimple-play, 

To her feather's breath; 
By what she said ! What a foolish thing ! 
Trust a lark to creep, a snail to sing! 
Trust the lockjaw jibe of death ! 

For down my lane just the night before, 
Where a bush invites with an open door, 

Where grasses watch, 
I passed, while all by one ticklish hap 
I heard her whine at her lover's lap 
Close in by the Knuckle Notch. 

My moon was about, my true new moon 
Which keeps one place, like a lazy tune. 

So I could see plain 
Her cheek made snug to another's cheek. 
Could catch her sigh, could hear her speak 
Her love again and again. 

And then, "He 's young, this Osmond" she said, 
"A trifle soft-clinkered about the head 

As well as heart; 
But gold he has to an overplus. 
The thing we need and enough for us; 
Trust me to perform my part. 

"He '11 wed me — I have him all and fast; 
He '11 knuckle to duck to my will from last 

Up to first, you '11 see; 
I '11 wed him because you wish it so, 
One more hard way just to make you know 
He counts only gold to me. 



Not So Quick 1037 

"So shall you nile him and not be seen; 
But a word from you behind your screen 

And he shall obey; 
His gold for you and his soul for you; 
To teach you how I can love and be true, 
You shall dance while he shall pay. 

"He shall throw back nor if nor but, 
My green moth at his honey-gut 

And lost in the game! 
You shall put candle to his nose, 
Your spider's fleece about his toes, 
Strip his wings in the flame." 



Listen to my story of the bull ! 

White May was at hand, the fens were full 

Of young cedar-scent; 
Swamp-apples tossed to and fro 
To try to jingle, like bells of snow; 
The promise of June was well meant. 

At Woodstock it was — I launched out there 
For my zig-zag trip in one morning air 

Of a valley's jaws; 
Soul could be seen where clouds were bled, 
God could be heard now the lip was red 
With pledges of songs in haws. 

Steep stood the slant as slant could be 
Now I mounted on the sunny side 

Of a ledge's face 
Which put gray eyes where my sky was set 
Like a blue cap drawn on the mountain jet, 
But much too large for the place, 



1038 Not So Quick 

When sudden, now as I looked aloft, 
One black bull stepped to the upper toft 

For his drink of wind — 
Two troubled horns dropped over his head — 
A hearse with two white plumes for the dead, 
Thought I — there he snarled and grinned ! 

All nostril out to the rim was spread 
To an inside dark with the entrance red, 

Like a sun-spot's pit ; 
Wild eyes to fathom I was there, 
Yet shot out sideways for maddened glare 
Like lights at a beacon's spit, 

As if he rather would not half see 
What slaughter he meant to make of me 

For passing whim, 
While I squared back, one jaw put firm, 
Which left my inside soul to squirm 
As I held to my ground for him. 

As rifted cloud before bursting suns 

His nostrils broke fire, two belching guns 

From a turret's nose; 
Plunging his horns hard into the ground. 
One kick at the wind, one sidelong bound, 
His big bulk fell and rose, 

Then lunged at me down the hill-steep straight 
Like an avalanche, full of hell and hate 

And an arrow's flight. 
Doubled his speed each leap he flew 
Like star-shot pierces the overblue. 
Keeping me hard in sight, 



Not So Quick 1039 



Rushed at me, bristled his pall of hide, 
Yet could not stop now I stepped aside 

To let him go by ; 
No stay for him on such hanging steep, 
Force was fierce as the pit was deep 
And dug for such as would die. 

On down he flew at pace so fleet 
Body shot faster than all the feet. 

So took to the air 
By round leaps, rings of somersaults; 
Each manoeuvre, save only the halts, 
Of the hurricane was there! 

Stump-tops, boulders fell in ahead, 

As if they, too, now raised from the dead, 

Would join such sport; 
So I lost him — I could bear my loss — 
Yet shuddered to watch him flop and toss 
His dumbhead hide into port. 

Down I stalked to know of him, 

In a gorge's gulch by the river-brim, 

Where his wreck was wrought, 
When, lo, his epitaph, just a scratch 
Of blood and hair on a granite patch, 
And one more lesson was taught ! 



AFTER DEATH 
Prelude 

To die is divine! 

How the iron hills nor die nor pine 
Nor wrinkle nor lose a tear, 
Yet for deep eons they are here! 
To die is divine, ever provided 
My living always was all-sided 
To right, love, power 
Of man-majesty, vast good. 
Which come to master the puma-mood 
And rat-bite and cross-breed 
Which mingle spirit, by whatever stretch. 
With sliminess and the dragon-wretch 
Of murderous purpose, gut-greed 
To get, by whatever means, through clay 
One new shoot of blossom-ray 
To sparkle in a perfecter day. 
Just as yonder water-lip star 
Picks white light up to turn it blue 
Or Epsom, as the planets are, 
Or steel or umber-roan for you — 
You the clay-gem to let spirit 
Plunge through the grit, burn and spear it 
To take on color, force fashion 
To outmaster and outshine passion. 
Pot-purpose, weather-cock breath. 
To loom in some zenith after death. 
1040 



After Death 1041 



What could be plainer than this, 

That all of the weather-white sky 

Is light, nor darkness is 
Any part of eternity? 

Oceans of fire, showers of suns 

Where Phard kindles, Bungula runs! 



Light comes my way. 

Yet from where it com.es 
When night swamps and the woodcock drums 

Who shall say? 
Only I know this thing. 

The wizard has foot and wing, 
Makes night into day 

By his fire-fly play. 

Ill 

Now for one touch of earth 

To draw his worth: 
See, I take this chrysoprase 

For the green I think it has. 
Yet only by a shot of light 

Is the soul in it put to flight! 

IV 

Or this essonite 

Blood-red on sight 
At a stab of light ! 

My cochineal ring of glass 
Through which I let the white ray pass 

To snare the scarlet which it has! 



66 



I042 After Death 



This is my sapphire and I knew it 

Soon as I let daylight through it, 
One stroke of heaven to true and blue it. 

But would I have surprise, 
Trap all colors of all the skies, 

Lo, my diamond's polyglot eyes. 
Only one white ball of dew 

To throw me orange, bullseye blue! 



VI 



Ah, but I can hear you say. 

This blue is only for a day ! 
I answer: 'T is but a little stone, 

So the blue in it soon is gone ; 
But take my gentianella star 

Which looks from such uncomputed far, 
The pink of it will pinken my dawn 

Eons after the pith is gone ! 



VII 



Soul is roundabout 

As light is, never out. 
Never any room for doubt 

But soul is universal free 
As light is to leap eternity, 

As light is to pierce my gem 
To come to wealth of diadem. 

Get the fine pond-eye blue 
By running a thumb of crystal through. 



After Death 1043 



How truly I could not say 

Spirit is a part of clay, 
Part of yonder mountain-make, 
Nob on like an Easter cake! 
Hunt for it in your pot of glass, 

Hunt where the rain has laid the grass, 
Where my rose-ousel ties to a stem, 

No more is it a part of them 
Than this twilight is part of the flame 

Of Sirius from which it came. 

IX 

There are the chalk and quartz of you. 

Body to let spirit through 
To take on shape and color too. 

Beauty by every kind of mould 
To no end, more than could be told 

Where spaces wait and the stars are gold; 
Body to let spirit through 



To give it another red or blue 

Than ever touched the eyes of you ; 
Body to focus soul, and so 

Shape it a new dog-rose glow 
To glisten and always to lie 

Like star-pink on yonder sky. 



How young he was to have died, 

Gentle Edward — how young to go. 
And I so young, and the field so wide 
Between us I could not know 



1044 After Death 

What it meant that noon-auburn hour 

He failed to bring me his prophet- flower. 



Tune-bug and frog-wallop of spring 

Drew to an end of carolling, 
As if they listened and knew 

He would so soon say adieu 
To all about him he could see, 

His grass-lap, his jouncing bee 
Full of flight and melody. 

His bell-vine over the door 
He should take to his heart no more. 

XIII 

Down over the green long lawn 

His last step and look were now, 
So soon he would be gone, 

He of the spiritual brow, 
Of the rich wide eyes, as if his sight 

Were weighted with wealth of light- 
To think of it that he would be gone, 

Nevermore his sun-fed lawn 
For him to creep and feast upon! 



Did I think of him 

For perfect eye and limb, 
For the rose-bush look of cheek 

To say so much, nor once to speak, 
For the fine unworldly hand 



After Death 1045 



Of such gentleness of command, 
Then would I look across his lawn 
To think of him as lost and gone. 



But that was of him was so fair 

I could not see nor think it out, 
Some ultra-being half hidden there. 

Which was Beauty, past a doubt. 
Like this flood of light is trying to break 

Through my island gem to force a way 
Out of it and beyond the clay 

To come to crimson and violet-make. 



Is he gone so far, do you think? 

Look to yonder mcadowink. 
His eye of olive-coppered pink. 

His song-burst — did it come 
Of gullet or duodenum? 

See how next he will lunge 
Where the sun-beams plunge 

Only to pack his eyes 
Full of shining skies 

To rain me his down-pour of song 
In his bobbin-play — 

Is he so far away? 



Is man now at his best, 

Or does spirit run him through 
Like light to throw a lordlier blue 

New shape across the west 



1046 After Death 

To climb, and evermore to climb 

To lordlier purpose, more sublime 

Than ever once could be seen 

By man in his small bowling-green — 

Soul bound to take a new shape 

By passing through the vein and nape? 

XVIII 

That way I have him to not lose him ! 

Body shaped his soul to use him 
For such nobler purpose beyond, 

And so I must see him unbond 
From earth, I must let him go 

To the new other high height 
As if his soul were made of flight, 

While yet, in spite of all I know. 
These tears — how the sun splits through 

To give them the salmon-spark and blue, 
In spite of all my sorrow too! 



My oxeye sandpiper will drink the light. 
Hop his hop, take his dip and bite, 

Yet will I measure his soul by his flight ! 



EAGLE SONG 

The rain, the cold rain in my eyes, 

And the mist 
Where I seize my ledge by the iron wrist 
For a start — there 's a way to rise 
Alive and aloof if I look for skies. 

Fog chokes my cheek of muttering 

Now I go 
To strike for flight from this undertow 
Of shallowment to hurl my wing 
At storm-shot and the thunder-fling. 

The blue cold blast at my throat, 

Pinch and chill, 
To rise on — now for one tug of will 
Where dark is what the whip-oak smote, 
Where fire is a line the lightning wrote. 

Up at it fair for a leap 

Into space. 
Neither here nor there, but to mount all place 
For one vasty sweep upon sweep — 
I fetch heart-end-up to face the deep ! 

What odds the tug, so I make scope? 

A thing to do 
Is to plow the thundrous fierce heaven through 
For power which I get to rise, to grope. 
Nor keep a quillful of fear, of hope. 
1047 



1048 Eagle Song 

What of the masterful stroke of fire, 

So I see 
How bafflement makes for that power in me 
Which pitches to high and higher 
Like the blossoming of a God's desire? 

Pimple earth is what I woiild leap 

To escape 
To where new Beauty takes nobler shape, 
And on again, new deep to deep, 
Now I hold one truth, there comes no sleep 

Nor rest of purpose, nor end of plan 
Or power / 

I get to by striving each new hour 
For mightiness to be most I can, 
My no-end thought — flight without a plan. 

Up through this black thick runs my run 

Above shroud, 
Beyond swill-pool world, spit-fire cloud 
To where one evermore sky is begun — 
I beat cloud down to seize the sun ! 



A SHRIVING PEN 

The child was a beautiful girl, 
In the careless keen whirl 

Of a girl; 
Scarce a thought of herself, nor thought 
How soul 's sold and bought, 
Nor dream of your street's 
Puts and pits full of cheats. 

Not a thought. 

Up country life served scarce a use; 
There was little to choose 

Or to lose 
But poor prints of a heart in each check- 
How great hearts may not speak. 
So they prick it to write 
Through the check, red or white, 

Bold or weak ! 

Sun-up to sundown on her hills 
Brought no aims, no ills, 

No thrills; 
Half a poor little farm at her feet 
For the small bread and meat ; 
Scarce a handfuU of straw 
To choke holes in a thaw, 

Stop the sleet. 
1049 



1050 A Shriving Pen 



"But the town! Ah, me, but the town, 
With its luck up and down, 

Clerk or clown ! 
To take chances in life, win or not, 
So you cast in your lot 
At one sip of a breath, 
Play the game to the death 

On the spot ! 

"If I lose, to the spire and cowl 
To deliver my soul 

Free of toll; 
You may trust a priest — he tells you so — 
Since they see and they know 
All there was or was not 
Ere the stars were begot. 

So they do. 

"And I would know somewhat of this 
Monster knowledge of his, 

What it is ; 
Why all my stubbled days up here 
For a mock, for a sneer? 
Give me life's ring and rush. 
Life with its fling and flush, 

Cheap or dear!" 

The passion to know, to do. 
To feel just as you. 

How it flew 
Through her brain to the pit of her heart, 
To a stop and a start. 
Till the blood plunged and tore 
Her soul to its core. 

Half apart ! 



A Shriving Pen 105 1 

Here was her black-siDcckled sin : 
She felt life begin 

From within, 
Her longing to dominate fate, 
To be useful and great ; 
'T was sin to step up. 
Step down, stand or stoop, 

Love or hate. 

Off, then, to one priest of the town. 
In her polygon gown 

Dotted brown; 
Then straight to a stall to confess 
And pray for redress : 
"Know my sin has been great, 
For I pouted at fate. 

Nothing less." 

The fat father, cooped in his sty, 
Caught the droop of her eye. 

Maiden-shy; 
Two lips curled out, two loops of flame 
Of the fire whence they came. 
Which was spread, hot and quick, 
To her cheeks, like a kick 

Of her shame. 

He too was drunken with youth, 
This first high priest of ruth. 

Prince of Truth, 
Till conscience swooned, paled away 
Now passion took to play 
With lips and lips on lips 
For savage sensuous dips. 

Beast and prey! 



1052 A Shriving Pen 

Six black days of a week of hell 
Dragged them down as they fell, 

Till the knell 
Of the seventh day, which was the Lord's day 
Rang them up and away. 
The wild priest to his peers. 
The child to her tears, 

So they say. 

How their pomp and chime of High Mass, 
Of bold splendor it has, 

How alas, 
Their cold chant, their dominant dome, 
Steel helmet of Rome, 
Warned her off, shut her out ! 
Not a welcome about. 

Nor a home ! 

One hundred red robes sent their glare 
Like a blush on the air 

And for fair 
Swept the aisles and wings to the nave 
In one blood-painted wave 
Through each swell and fall 
Of a chant, like a call 

Of her grave. 

She had not a heart to step in 
With her burden of sin 

At God's Inn; 
Too brave to confess and discover 
Her monk of a lover ; 
Never friend, save her star 
Above her, far to far 

Above her! 



A Shriving Pen 1053 

Anthem past anthem sweeps the skies 
Now tired evening sighs 
Where it dies ; 
Blue-jeweled priests in scarlet wild 
Over their chancel filed 
To conjure up spell and spell 
Of a way out of Hell — 

But the child? 

Calm and storm of song 

Still break forth from their throng 

Deep and long; 
The monk was made cardinal undefiled, 
Men bowed when he smiled, 
For they sinned and confessed, 
Kissed the cross and were blessed — 

But the child? 



ELSEWHERE 



I 'VE waited (how long!) for you, 

Whom I have not seen in this world as yet, 

'Though I know you for solemn true, 

And I have you to love — there 's the thing- 

I have you to love for a whole life yet 

Of jonquilest music summering 

To drop not a leaf, since this much is true, 

I have you at your best and new 

If I have but the soul of you. 



I Ve footed my long years out 

To know you not once in the woman world, 

'Though you are there, of that no doubt, 

My other part of me, twice as fair 

'Though hidden, like a light is impearled 

And I no cunning to trap it there, 

So I keep my trust and my love of you 

To lose you never — there 's a way to do 

If I have but the soul of you. 



Suppose you to come to me 
To tie me to you — the altar-knot- 
1054 



Elsewhere 1055 

For what you could taste and touch and see 

To chafe at, or to swallow joy, 

To hover at each honey-pot, 

Flutter, fly to lip-alloy, 

Yet would be lacking that finer true 

Vast sweetliness which is always new 

Now I have but the soul of you. 



Well I know what you will say 

If you see it, this I have written here: 

Bosom and love must have their way 

Of worldishness to make out a case 

Of life-living to add another year 

Of multiplication of a race — 

Yet they may have it this whole life through. 

Ear-pink, bosomy vein-streak blue, 

If I have but the soul of you. 



The other one there, he took 
Your flower-leaf cheek, budded lip. 
Your eye which burns to a linnet-look. 
He took your kiss and your hollow hand 
You gave him — one day he shall let it slip 
To crumble like a doll of sand — 
He may have them to keep in view. 
Your sunrise-eye, your heartfulness too, 
If I have but the soul of you. 



For, think, am I not to know 

My mate in the ample round worlds of God, 



1056 Elsewhere 

While he there may keep you to grow 
To his lock of lips his whole life through, 
While I put these arms 'round a breast of sod 
In place of her whom my spirit knew? 
For this life, yes, he may have you to mue. 
And then my turn — then will I woo 
To win the very soul of you. 

VII 

Even now that I stop to dream, 

These eyes I close let a new light in 

And I come to know how you speak and seem 

When the bank of flesh is not there 

To keep you down, nor a breath of sin, 

And you come with your new-time kindlier care 

And Beauty this world never knew, 

Which I have to keep the wide ages through 

If I have but the soul of you. 



BREAD ON THE WATERS 

God knows a robin flutes for love of song, 

Not thinking of the prize 
Which, perhaps, may come along, 

Or may not, but keeps on fluting 
For the prizes in his song. 

A little way to go, 

A littler thing to know, 
But mightier soul to grow. 

And am I not satisfied to have found a place 
Where suns laugh while the great worlds chase 

Each other out of time and space? 

Have I need to whine 

And the soul of me mine 
And my power divine 

To know I am an abundant part of what 
Makes for power which the world has not. 
Is not compounded to come to nought? 

What is for me to miss 

And the plain truth this 
That I am all there is 

Of what I see about these cHmbing spaces? 
Without me they have neither eyes nor faces, 

While everywhere and way my play and place is? 

I 

A girl was I as the butterfly hops, 

An ear to hark where the woodcock chops, 
An eye to the kinglark that spHts his cloud 

For a storm of song, and the Gods arc proud. 
67 1057 



^058 Bread on the Waters 

Just a girl as most girls are, 

Little at hand, and love was far 
And pale as my morning star. 

Never I thought what love could be, 

Never I thought 
I am part of immensity 

And more is evermore to be, 
Finer and greater to be wrought 

Than ever I thought. 

What a way life is to be going. 

Always a little less to be showing, 
Always a little more to be growing ! 

So I bungalowed, 

So I swooned or I toed 
The dance — there was my chance: 

The life of the soul is in the dance, 
Pleasure 's the cake of circumstance ! 

There might be children in the street 

Of hungry ribs, naked feet — 
Mine was the piccolo life and sweet. 

There might be men would keep their hand 
To the shovel till they too were sand — 
Were not the roses at my command? 

One little life to know, 

A feather-flight or so, 
A little puff and show 

And all is well done in the end, do you think, 
And you have tricked the Gods by a wink 

At your game of feathers and apple-drink? 



Bread on the Waters 1059 

So I thought and so I did, 

I toiled for what I could get 
For the self in me — my whole heart was hid, 

Nor love in my life was yet. 

Earth was here — earth was enough, 

I the puddle-bird to stick 
My beak in where the mud was thick 

Nor ever a thought of love, 
Nor thought of what I could do 

By greatness of heart like the best of you. 

One autumn sort of a day. 

Just as I had gone to play 
At arrows to hit the popinjay. 

Just as I had drawn my bow 
Full length to let the arrow go, 

My aim put straight as a dart 
To try to split the hardened heart, 

Lo, a touch at m.y shoulder! — ■ 
What could be gentler, bolder 

Than such firm-fingered touch, 
No gentleness like it such. 

With "Will you not aim my way, 
Yonder target is only clay. 

Is nothing to hit, so you see 
You waste your archery — 

Will you not have a shot at me?" 

Now I turned and now I saw 

What a girl's heart hungers for, 
My man of the handsome brow, 

Of summer smile, rainbow-bow 
And art of knowing when and how 



io6o Bread on the Waters 

To make the most of what 
Goes for trifle, yet counts so much, 

The eye-beam and flower- touch 
Of favor — his forget-me-not! 

Never I saw him before, 

My man of this hour! 
What strong eyes he had, and more, 

What yielding, what power 
To look to be kind and true 

As true noblemen do, 
And what should a girl but say. 

Her surprise of a way: 
" My popinjay over there, 
' I hit it for fair. 

And sure as the heart is of clay 

My arrow will stay; 
But soul, should I hit it, what then? 
/ My shot might be vain. 

So much I fear lest my dart 

Would not cling in your heart!" 

How I remember 

That free September, 
His straight lion look, 

His mild smile he took 
To tell me his thought. 

This young yaupon-flower 
Which he plucked and brought 

From his cedar-bower, 
The which I have kept 

While the years have gone, 
While my hope has slept, 

While my soul was born ! 



Bread on the Waters 1061 

Side by side each day 

We wandered in and out 
Where the bell-robins play, 

Fritillaries pout, 
Held fast to our task 

To watch new cloud display 
One thin veil of sway 

To stop the sun from play. 
See the sun unmask — 

Drifting now, now going 
To my moon-shaped lake 

Where the swans were rowing, 
Where the sand-heaps bake, 

Took an hour for tasting 
Of each sweetened wind 

Till the flowers were thinned 
Of breath and wasting — 

How my soul was pinned ! 
Did he not tell me of love. 

All that I ever knew. 
How the struggle of life is enough, 

Is the best of it too 
If you dodge the wrong and the rough. 

Keep the kind way and true. 

Where the ground-pink is squandered 

In the woods. 
Where pickabuds have wandered 

Into moods 
Of unpremediated song 
In the rafters, like a gong 

Full of glees, 
We were in among the trees, 

In and out. 



io62 Bread on the Waters 

After any flower you please, 

Caught the shout 
Of the bob white in the breeze, 
Caught the saw-song of the bees, 

Caught the smell 
Of the frankincense of flowers 

And the knell 
Of the moose-bird in his towers — 
Where you go, go where you please, 
What wonder like the wealth of these ! 

Now came his words to me of love 

As fell the redded leaves 
In flocks about us — how soul unweaves 

At touches of sun, one touch enough- 
I was his flower he should keep 

Till suns fall asleep; 
His sign of dawn was my slip 

Of geranium lip; 
One little toss of my hand 

A word of command ; 
Nothing his heart held in fee 

Save the image of me. 
Like our lake there, one clear blue eye 

Held the print of the sky 
As I held the print of his lips 

— So the lark sings and sips — 
Since I could trust him, I knew, 

For masterful true. 
Now my soul and my heart were gone 

And so wholly were his 
I rather I never were born 

Than have him to miss. 
So much in my heart he was and is! 



Bread on the Waters 1063 

The next day morning he was to come 
To find me where the beetles drum, 

Where my palm-birds cheep and chum 
And honeysuckles hum. 

The next day truly the great sun came, 

Face as red as a tortured flame, 
Looking like a face of shame 

Because he never came. 

Because he never came I could say 

He had forgotten, went his way 
After his afternoon of play 

With me, his cat-paw play. 

Could it be true, I thought, of all men, 

That they love again and again. 
Make so little of the pain. 

Count the conquest vain? 

All the long day I waited to know 

If the truth could be truly so, 
If he could leave me, could go, 

Now that I loved him so. 

Evening lay tucked in the willow boughs. 
Tired ploughmen let go their plows. 

Tired falcon forgot his spouse 
Like my man and his vows. 

Now are the wild woods full of him! 
The lark in his zambomba limb 
Tunes his tune to the voice of him ! 

Now my reed-bird is loud and plain, 

Wraps his heart in such wild refrain, 
Calls him to come to me once again. 



1064 Bread on the Waters 

Do I look to my purple flower, 

I see him there in his handsome power, 
Or there where the stars drop their evening shower. 

My meadow-brook will pass me by, 

Is dark and cold where the shadows die, 
Yet comes again, passes me never by. 

Is he gone away, I thought, 

Evermore gone from me and not 
One word, and I so soon forgot? 

By night I heard the high wind say 
There would come another day. 
And always and always the higher way. 

I could hear the mother bird shout 

For her little ones blown away. 
Could see yonder sailor-cloud pout 

To lose the moon at her lighthouse-play. 

My man is about me full the same, 

'Though he never came; 
Is there among my pheasantry trees, 

Bows and straightens like one of these, 
Ducks and whispers and tries to please. 

Do I look to my hills beyond. 

To the bloodroot in the grass. 
Watch these sword-lilies split the pond, 

Why there he is, and my world is glass 
To capture and will not let him pass. 

The warm wind is 'round me, hands and arms, 

At my neck and cheek with clinging palms — 
'T is he with his spiritful of charms ! 



Bread on the Waters 1065 

This is love, I begin to say, 

Large as soul, takes a larger way 
Than to look to only what I may get 

By way of compensation, set 
My heart on my man, as if to get 

My prize were life to the profit net ! 

This is love of all about me, 

Of all I ever saw or knew, 
Not a beetle to doubt me 

But I shall be kind and true 
To all the world about me 

By what I most may do, 
And so I girt and stout me 

My most to be kind and true. 

Another way to go, 

A larger world to know. 
Deeper soul to show 

Than what I may wear in a shoe for size 
Or pick at with one pair of eyes. 

And has not love left me more than wise? 

He taught me love. 

My man of simplex thought; 
Is that, in God's name, not enough, 

Or was there more he could have brought, 
More he could have left behind 

Than love to largcn my jump of mind 

To see he is not gone, 

To see the thing so clear, 
That soul means on and on, 

Means everywhere as here 



io66 Bread on the Waters 

Power reaches to compass more 

Than all which has gone before, 
Something so nobler and other 

Than just my love of my lover-brother 
That I have him too and more 

Than all which has gone before 
To deal me this one truth plain: 

Small is one life in the soul's domain 
By what I have in me to know 

Soul is King and will have it so. 

Ah, but I hear you say. 

He is gone away, 
Clean gone out of my life 

And I nor mother nor wife, 
Nor he to hold me for dear 

As life is, nor bring me cheer, 
Like my swallow trumps to his mate 

When dark broods and the moon is late, 
And I 'm not to have him now and here. 

Now and here make only parts 

Of this ocean of hearts; 
I know my power and my place 

Where the planets race; 
I know myself for the God 

Above crumbs and sod; 
I know my way which is clear 

Beyond now and here 
To compass all that I am 

Beyond trick and sham, 
To make my way by my dower 

Of love, which is power; 



Bread on the Waters 1067 

Of Right, which royals my day, 

Has Right to pay; 
Of Truth, which kingdoms this earth 

By one golden girth, 
That I shall come to full power 

Above landlock and hour 
To learn the trick to un-knee, 

Take flight to be free 
To master spaces and breath 

High time above death, 
Deal straight with eternity 

For what belongs to me, 
And I shall have him, I know, 

For he too shall grow. 
Sure I shall have him to keep 

Where the Gemini sleep. 
Clean beyond moon-fields or Mars, 

In the streets of the stars ! 



Now to my work of life, 

To my honest strife, 
To put my love to test, 

Do my best ! 

This is my alfalfa field, 

Full of purple useful yield 

Of sweetness, which is growth 
To the purple blowth. 

And here I am come to stay. 
Here will I take their way. 

My flowers at their working-day- 



io68 Bread on the Waters 

They breathe their sweetness to fly 
Higher than they, to touch the sky — 
What matter if the jaw-jowls die? 

Now to my work of hfe, 

To my honest high strife: 

Are there children now in the street 

Of hungry ribs, naked feet. 
Then is my life not all suckle-sweet. 

Is there power I am to acquire 

By conquest of each mean desire. 
Then leaps this heart in me high and higher. 

Is life my best by what I gain 

Of soul above a world's domain. 
Then is no breath of me puffed in vain. 

Was I not born my day to do 

My noblest, nor to have in view 
More than my noblest to be and do? 

Am I not to outclimb this sod, 

Drink my tears, smash each smiting-rod. 
Yet you think only God is God ! 



Such long years have passed in the new way ! 

I 've been foremost true! 
Always I had the concord thing to say, 

Spirit thing to do, 
Hugged no happiness I could not share 

With my brother there 
In his tough path — I fetched him a lift 

By my courage-gift. 



Bread on the Waters 1069 

Dragged him out of his hell of a diteh 

To my highest pitch ! 
Always I kept my love of my man, 

Yet always I kept 
My fuller love, the large-hearted span, 

Nor this heart has slept. 
Only I thought in the world to do 

What of me was first, 
So well I knew the wrong other cue 

In the end is curst. 

All these years of patient doing. 

So many years of soul in my work 
For others, lifting, newing, 

Nothing I would shunt or shirk. 
And now there came my wonderful day : 

The sun seemed to walk in my way, 
So many origans swayed in the field 

With each wind, as if the wind were heeled 
In shoes of flowers which I caught. 

And the wind went barefoot through the lot. 

In I come to town, 

There is my child of the street. 
Pinched in close as a frown. 

Hungry ribs, naked feet. 
Little to hope he has. 

People let the poor child pass 
For they must go to their church 

To spread feathers and pucker and perch. 

My new day was begun: 

I put the child in the sun, 
Tumbled my origans in his lap, 

Flung my smiles at my little chap. 



I070 Bread on the Waters 

Caught the smutted face and palms 

Close as life is in these arms, 
Gave him my love and lips 

As the sun in any brown flower dips 
Till I had him smiling too 

For joy just as any of you. 
When — lo, a touch at my shoulder, 

What could be gentler, bolder, 
Than such firm-fingered touch. 

No gentleness like it such, 
With "There you have aimed my way. 

Your arrow is gone through the clay, 
Is clinging in the soul of me 

Just by your perfect archery" — 
There he was — oh, there he was, 

My man there — there he stood, 
After such years of pause. 

As that first day in our pigeon wood 
He loved me and I knew it 

Each way he said and shew it, 
And I, the thin-hearted girl, 

Prided in my neck and curl 
And pomp-walk and Roman pearl, 

And he saw it, and so 
Went his way, let me go. 

Left me to climb and grow — 



And now he comes again. 

Keeps his same look, strong and plain, 
Gentle, nothing vain; 

Silver silvers the handsome brow. 
Nought is gone of the rainbow-bow 

Or art of knowing when and how 



Bread on the Waters 1071 

To find me after I have grown 

Soul which he could claim and own — 

One touch just and we were one, 

One look without one thought — 
Nought above the heart was wrought, 

Silent as the burning sun 
Love is — all my love and lips 

Which I gave to my small brown flower 
That tried to put up finger-tips 

Through his mudded street and shower, 
All my heart which I gave him 

To try to raise and save him 
I got back now from my man of love 

As he drew me to him, such gentle touch. 
No gentleness like it such, 

Just the one touch enough — 
As the sun and his columbine, 

Two souls longing to combine — 
And all my love which I gave 

To the world to be true and brave 
To do my most to help and save, 

All of it now I have back again 
Out of his great heart's domain. 

All of it over and over again. 

What a way life is to be going. 

Always a little less to be showing, 
Always a little more to be growing ! 

Never I thought what love could be, 

Never I thought 
I am part of immensity 

And more is evermore to be. 
Finer and greater to be wrought 

Than ever I thought! 



MORE AND HIGHER 



Better you come up out of your slubber! 

There 's a way to do, 

One certain way for you 
Greater than dodging just to pout and blubber; 
Made, this world is, to get you going, 

Climbing, knowing. 



What thought is in your dreaming worth a puffin's puff 

That, once you have come 

To chew and hum, 
Such sun-fly trick would make enough 
Of purpose for life to be giving. 

Your trick of living? 



Up out of each little peaked low-life level 

Have a mind to rise ! 

Look once about your skies 
How their sun-drops dangle to leap and revel 
To tie new gold into knots of blaze, 

Bead your days ! 

1072 



More and Higher 1073 



How many there are of them, worlds without ending, 
Just to show to you 
Who are thinking them through 
To find what their pretty bhnk is portending, 
How you, make reasoning what you may, 
Mean more than they. 



You thought life an end of something, the while you knew 

There is no end — 

You saw a man unbend. 
Saw him bow? Fear you to bow the same way too 
At such new doorway to more glowing, 

Greater growing ? 

VI 

Tree-perch or blue leaf or cyclamen have a way 

Of minding you, too. 

There is more of you 
Than all their new Beauty could try to say, 
More to be got at and gotten out 

Than eye-glad or pout. 

VII 

Take that man with bull-kick in his kindness, 

Pig-knuckles, they say. 

And a spiderly way 
Of biting hearts out — take his spirit-blindness 
And pinfish swallow, his gulp at a gnat, 

Soul of a rat, 

68 



I074 More and Higher 

VIII 

I would say: there is much for him yet to do, 

New worlds, perhaps, 

Many a boost and lapse 
Ere he come to comparison once with you ! 
He shall have his chance — more soul is to get, 

Since all time is yet. 



I fight my way up from the thing below 
I was once, so small 
In the eye-sweep and spall 
That no way was open but to try to grow 
To mightier measurement, have my day 
And my way. 



So up I grew to this largest waist-size 

Which a man may span 

By his bellyful plan. 
Yet I reach out beyond to more widening skies, 
Since soul would grow 'though the skull-power stop, 

Body drop. 



Would you think the end of the thing to be now 

That you see what power 

In life's closing last hour 
Soul has, 'though this body may wince and bow, 
Power to say " I am greater than just 

This whiff of dust?" 



More and Higher 1075 

XII 

If greater, then have I grown to this: 

One ample new sphere, 

Different from here. 
That I may come more like the spirit is; 
More size, which looks to more power and space 

In endless place. 



My Rosalie — that was a sun-down day 
Which crossed her hands 
For two velvet white bands. 
Pressed out her pink lip into blue cold clay — 
How she was gone, so fair, so soon, 
In her fine forenoon ! 



XIV 



True, she was greater than men ever knew, 

As I could see plain 

By her soul-domain 
And kingdom-face, eyes of heaven's true blue 
Like sun-bubbles, meant for only one sweep 

Across the deep. 



I have her to know I must get me to what 

Was great in her heart, 

Get the sun-burst part 
And conquerer-kindness which the world has not, 
Before I may kneel at her train. 

Have her again. 



1076 More and Higher 



That my stint and first purpose, so there may be 

Such new ripened change 

In my day-crop range 
That nothing may pass which was meant for me, 
Nor what shall have had a least cost 

Be baffled or lost. 



You may play this game of life as you choose — 

Once you purpose clear 

To confine it to here 
Your plain truth is this : you will play to lose 
If there be no star-lip to respond, 

Nothing beyond. 

XVIII 

Life you may have, the whole dash and fling of it, 

If what you get 

In your gullet-net 
Be the round-up crop and topmost thing of it ! 
Good it were as harvests of a hearse, 

Sweet as a curse ! 



The smallness of life, the largeness of desire 
To get to more worth 
Than is dug out of earth. 

And what so true a sign to point you higher ? 

The smallness of life, the largeness of desire 
Mean more and higher. 



NOT A WORD 



A LIGHT out of the skies 
Lay in his eyes; 
One supple note to rejoice 
Mellowed his voice; 
His thought he took for others. 
All men for brothers, 
All things for what was right, 
Like a bunch of might. 
And what should he do 
To have her see 
He was royal true, 
He was manful-free 
To be his best, 
His all he was 
By whatever test 
Of a human cause? 
What should he do? — 
He scarce could say 
"I am royal-true 
As the sun-blown day, 
I come to you 
In my royal way 
Of integral soul 
To be what I may 
1077 



1078 Not a Word 

To compass the whole 

High purpose of life 

By my human strife 

In my human day"; 

Nor he scarce could say 

"Out of all the rest 

There is no best, 

But of all the many 

I 'm perfect as any, 

'Though I make no claim 

To a human name 

For what I have done 

In my little run 

Under the sun"; 

Nor he scarce could show, 

By his to and fro, 

What a power he was 

For a human cause. 

Since this muddy bubble 

Of trick and trouble 

Had plastered its frown 

In his noble crown. 

There 's my supple-jack vine 

Beginning to crawl, 

Will tuck up a tine 

So tiny small 

I wonder to see 

Such soldiery, 

I wonder to know 

How tendril or toe 

Could battle so. 

Could reach to climb 

Against arrow-rime 

Through smut and choke 



Not a Word 1079 



By never a stoop 
Till flowers awoke 
And purple drupe 
For a masterstroke, 
And never a word 
Of a branch is heard. 



How he loved her too, 
And she would not yield! 
How he gathered dew 
Of his crow-flower field, 
Little yellow beads 
The peafinch needs 
To match his eye 
Like a dot of sky ! — 
There they lay an hour 
Like eyes of the flower, 
Let the yellow through 
And purple too, 
So she could see 
How Beauty will shine 
Through a thistle's pin, 
Through fang or fin 
Like a thing divine; 
How Beauty will speak 
By another power, 
'Though the lip be weak 
Or the life an hour, 
Like the life and cheek 
Of my little flower; 
How Beauty will break 
Into open day, 
Nor a gain to take, 



io8o Not a Word 

Nor a word to say 

But "I am all I, ^ 

Whole perfect hope, 

Am the lip and eye 

Of your heliotrope, 

Bloodspots in the healing moon, 

I am each knell 

Of your bell-tree bell, 

I 'm the pink proud lap of June. ' 

III 

Sudden she looked 

Into each blue eye 

Where his stars were booked 

Like an open sky, 

Could see herself there. 

Spirit and Umb, 

Fastened for fair 

In the soul of him. 

Claiming her share 

Was the whole of him. 

Once now she saw 

In the blue deep eyes 

What answered for 

Vast spirit-size, 

Saw the great heart too 

In the perfect blue, 

Her sun-like man 

On the Zenith-plan 

Of power and height. 

Of celestial right 

She saw in his eye, 

Heard in his sigh 



Not a Word 1081 

She knew for the whole 
Of one perfect soul — 
Two sovils now in one 
Like as sky and sun, 
And never the word 
Of a lip was heard, 
Never the touch 
Of a lip was such, 
Nor ever such charm 
Of a gentle arm 
Put its endless span 
'Round the neck of a man 
As cheek to cheek 
Of glow to glow 
Not one could speak 
For the love of them so. 



TRAGEDY 

Now lie there, 

Put your new face 

In its proper place, 

Lie and die there. 
Nor drop a word of it you said 
Which put you fast in her heart instead 

Of me, you dead! 

Take her hand — 

You will not know 

How cold it is, so 

Take the cold small hand. 
Make the most of it, forget your lust 
To come to quiet and be just. 

You dust to dust ! 

Take her lips, 

Swallow them now 

For a bended bough 

Of snow-shod tips! 
I will be calm, you shall have your way 
To find how such life has death to pay 

In coins of clay. 

How was it 
You sought to crush 
Such song-mated thrush 
But because it 
1082 



Tragedy 1083 

Pleased one hell-whim — you had scarce seen her 
When you must needs play mean and meaner, 
Hellish hyena? 

Touch her eyes ! 

They will not look 

Your way, nor once crook 

Aside from her skies. 
For see how they stare, so hold your breath 
Now her sweet night-heart reasoneth 

From youth to death ! 

What you said 

Would hurt not now 

The beautiful brow 

Is white as dead. 
Out of reach of you to hurt again. 
So run your tongue out to lick off the stain 

Since breath is vain. 

Did you feel 

One stinging end, 

One whip of the bend 

Of my cold steel? 
She died by your hand, you by mine; 
Small use for either of us to whine 

At her decline ! 

I follow, 

So runs your log, 

Follow you, you dog, 

For one swallow 
Of your portion — we will make it right 
In another kind of day and night 

Just out of sight. 



1084 Tragedy 

There was gain 
For you, you thought, 
Was not to be bought 
By swink or pain, 
As if you hoped by your choppy nods 
At cheat, in a Httle game of sods, 
To trick the Gods! 

Your one creed 

Was come to this. 

That you should not miss, 

For want of greed, 
One pimpernel you could tear in two, 
One finch to smash the red heart through 

For joy to you. 

Life was lust 

For you to get, 

Nor one mignonette, 

One plum-leaf gust 
Were worth your while to labor for! 
You knew a way to hoodwink Law 

By rule of claw! 

Life was hope 

For you and me 

To live it to see 

One wide high scope 
Of opportunity to make most 
Of what there was of us, play host 

Instead of ghost. 

You thought not ! 
Hell was to pay 
In your kind of way, 
Filth to be got, 



Tragedy 1085 



A wren to ruin to scatter about, 
Life to be laughed at and puffed out 
'Twixt flip and pout. 

No escape! 

Your time shall come, 

Your tap of a drum 

To dig and scrape 
And knuckle to it to wheel about 
To learn how you were not made to flout 

This soul-face out. 

Heaven knows 

You scorned your best 

As one with the rest 

Where spirit grows 
Which gave you your chance to make your way 
To somewhat higher than this day 

Of animal play. 

And if so 

You made the best 

Of your filthy breast 

To trip and go, 
So comes there law to be put good, 
One law of a better brotherhood 

Than your dog-mood. 

Boys were we 

In those fair days 

At our play-ground plays 

Which come to me 
To choke the soul of me out of speech, 
To hang my heart up to stop and bleach, 

Friend out of reach ! 



io86 Tragedy 



Straight to you 

I go in my prime 

And my love-day time 

The same way too, 
For this : We must work it out some way 
In another kind of night and day, 

As she would say. 

Three were we 

In life, my friend, j 

To this bitter end, 

I, you and she; 
What I would hope is, now all is done. 
Now this poor phaze of us has had its run, 

We yet may be one. 



CHARLOTTE 

CHARLOTTE-wise was her way — 

I knew Charlotte's ways, 
The thing she had to say 

Full of kind-worded praise, 
The thing she went to do 

For her thought of you : 

"This flower out of my hat, 

See, I give it you 
For the water blue 

You were looking at, 
And this vine you liked 

Where the grapes are spiked! 

"Take the flowers, I pray of you! 

They are not real, so they will last 
Beyond my garden-grape of blue 

Which I but yesterday picked for you 
And, lo, the lip of it is past 

With scarce a little taste of dew ! 

"They come and go, the wild flowers do, 
Stay their short while just as you, 

Bow their way out like you too ; 

But take these rye-rods in my bonnet, 

All as if they grew there on it, 

They will not die as the rye-fields do. 
1087 



io88 Charlotte 

"This flower which came of moon and shade, 
Meant one certain day to fade, 

Looks to me out of such moon-beam eye 
Between velvet and diamond dye 

As knew once the cHmbing sky, 

So knows a way and a day on high. 

" Mark my Japonica pot. 

So too this meHlot 
Now the clean sun sizzles 

Where the dew drizzles 
Till I pluck one handful, blue 

As the quill-work of a cockatoo! 

"There 's the needleful of dew, 

There 's the heavenful of flame, 

But what of this spot of blue, 

Of where it goes, of whence it came? 

Is there orange blossom or blue 
Plays outside the soul in you? 

"Look you once again 

To this sombre rain: 
Never a drop of it dropped in vain ! 

Sky gave it, sky knows the knack 
To take it back 

Ever and forever again. 

"So I see my blue and my red 

Always in yonder sky 
Where nothing is ever dead, 

Whence nothing has ever fled, 
Where every world is high 

And gold-mannered, of blazing eye. " 



Charlotte 1089 

"Ah," I said, "my Charlotte friend, 

There 's all Beauty to no end 
Which I see in your constant Heaven 

Sprinkles dew-light or bold leven, 
Yet once I look, and your eyes such blue, 

I see all Heaven in the soul of you. " 



A BRAS OUVERTS 

See earth put patient arms up 

Above flower or fruit-dropping valley-cup 

In mountains towards the skies! 

Look how they fine to rise, 

Drop off dust below, 

Take less hold of here 

As they approach the clear " 

Till clay goes robed in snow 

Whose jewelled crystal finger runs 

The path above a million suns! 

And if the hills would flee, 

Then why not we. 

Once the upshot hour is come, 

Once the moon-birds peal and drum 

Sonne try 'round Elysium? 



1090 



THE SYLPH SELF 

Have fancy, just to my liking, 

The dash of a viking ; 

Have power, most to my longing, 

Dream dreaming and songing; 

Make much of it, each little prop of an ear 

To the rear 
To listen for men, to know if they follow — 
How poor the whole of it, how hollow, 
Seeing the leaping heart of me flew 

To you, only you! 

Put gainfulness first — there 's the error 

Which holds men in terror; 

Settle what first best to have is 

The lip of a mavis. 

Flounce of the elm in purple summer. 

Or rummer 
Of melony muscadine, otto of roses — 
One true thing the whole of it shows is 
How not the sweet best that you grew 

Was you, fairly you. 

The brain of you thumping, knowing, 
The heart of you glowing 
For thought which is manly supreme 
As a skylighted dream, 

1091 



1092 The Sylph Self 

For power which could circle a Saturn of rings, 

Muzzle kings, 
While what of it when it is done and ended 
More than one sunburst, a moment splendid? 
What is the whole great first you may do 

But an inkling of you? 

Hand at the helm for holding 

A world to your moulding ; 

Your luck-pot life, the gold proud feather 

Of pink-ended weather 

To write you a name across sheets of sky 

Not to die; 
To put breath panting between your poet-pages 
To burn on the Hps of all men for all ages 
Were nothing to me — I claimed what I knew 

To be soul, which is you. 

Suppose this, suppose you never • 
Were half an eye clever, , 

Full poor in spirit, not knowing 
The gain-way for growing i 

An eye to pierce or lip to elate 

Race or State, 
Would there be the less of you in behind? 
Is soul just blood-hungry parlor-trick mind, 
While the heart in me, all that is true. 

Goes longing for you ? 

So, when the end is, I fashion 
An end of all passion, 
An end of this circle-kick thinking. 
Of dozing and winking ; 
I fashion two white hands made into a cross 
Above the corse, 



The Sylph Self 1093 

Like the unknown X, not a sign of nothing, 
But of value to find, a new betrothing, 
And I clasp, through the gold and blue, 
Just soul — that is you. 



GAMBLERS 

Cock a bottle at the game, 

Slip the leash to let the cork spit out 

One small hiss of flame 

For you to set fire to him — no doubt 

How you meant to handle him now 

That last card of yours would teach him how 

To whiten to make you his low last bow. 

Your tricks at him — what of that? 

You ducked his brain in your bath of fire! 

You bite like a rat 

With venom sweetened to one desire 

To pick his white throat up in your paws, 

Only a gnat in a spider's claws 

For the blood in him, your whole hellish cause. 

Oh, so he took his chance 

To play you back and the thing was fair 

To a circumstance ! 

Fair to him, no doubt — he took his care — 

But to you, how stands the case with you 

And your jaw put back to bite him through? 

Does the game play equally fair by you? 

One of your weak ones was he, 
Like a water-lip pouts to curl and break 
At whims of the sea; 

You had him fast, there was gold to take, 
1094 



Gamblers 1095 

A wren to be chopped in your china jaws 
Now you knew your man how light he was 
For you to snap like a whip of straws. 

His gold was there — all was his — 

He came to it by life's troubled swink, 

Which has come to this, 

That you must have it now as you think 

What his life was worth, what yours is not, 

So by putting his shekels in your pot 

You pump in his shoes full aliquot. 

But do you? — one look to that : 

He took his chances, he paid your price 

You pummel at, 

His soul gulped up by a cockatrice. 

His life and gold too, with all he had 

Of conflict in him to drive him mad 

In such poor trip-up from good to bad. 

The gain is to you — but look. 

Your loss there, your soul-drop-out loss 

I saw as you took. 

The best of you gone, the man that was, 

Your knuckle- work put to nicking, so 

You think you can let your best part go 

To keep on winning and thinking so! 

He tried to get your ducats, too — 

That I acknowledge, so was he small; 

Be it that, would you 

Not say he paid for it overall. 

For you there you have his life and gold 

Which, mark me, will one day slip your hold 

When you seek him in the dark and cold 



1 096 Gamblers 

To put him right again — you 

To hand him back both his life and soul 

So no part work askew 

To put up one rounded finest whole, 

And you must square it with him, my friend; 

Small matter how you trick to bend, 

You '11 square it with him in the end. 

But you, would you think the game 

Has served you right, 'twixt him and you, 

That you have no claim 

On yourself to take this plainest view 

Of the thing, that you be once put back 

Where you were before you toed about track 

To play him such fellish hellish knack? 

Once he put shoulder to the wheel. 

One wheel of fortune to make his way, 

Had value to deal; 

Your card was blank as popinjay. 

Yet you played it fate-first, took your lick 

At subterfuges, took your pick, 

Just by one puny devilish trick 

Which turned the tables that night. 

Tumbled his fortune into your lap 

Against God and right. 

His throat made fast in your finger-trap 

For you to play with — what shall it be, 

All a loss to him eternally 

And you full man-blown? — let us see: 

The thing was this way, I vouch: 

You prowled about with gluttonous eye 

And an empty pouch 

To pluck him before your day went by; 



Gamblers 1097 

Now mark me this once again, my friend, 
For one truth on which you may depend, 
'T is you have been plucked to the ruffled end, 

For what has a man to show 

But the man in him, the soul-made man, 

And whether or no 

He prosper by the worldish plan. 

Since here is the what-of-it clean through 

Which you may hold fast for one thing true. 

Not this whole life is a grain of you, 

Since well I know how a man 

Is more than the thing he sees or seeks 

By his one- world plan 

To count his Hfe out in days and weeks, 

More than the blue breath he has lost 

By bee-bite or by fist of frost — 

More is a man than his world has cost. 

So shall you put yourself whole 

To keep you so, since the one sure game 

Of body and soul 

Is to get one manfullest man, the same 

As a lime-bush puts new tongues in quest 

Of sky-shine, blue dew and the rest 

To hand you one citron, the very best. 

Put your gold down, take him up 

Who lies there now, two lips as white 

As plum-flower cup, , 

For your long hard task to put him right 

Now he waits — one hand there seems to grope 

At his brow like a fork of heliotrope 

For one more grasp at life and hope ! 



MY WREN 

Where now is my leaping wren 

That is gone out of his emerald field, 

May be to never come again 

Where bottle-flower and stagger-bush yield 

Such forest of ravishment, 

Such purple heart, saffron scent? 

His last note I heard 

Was as the wind in an evening sky 
About to fly away to die, 

Was as that pale-faced word 
Which I thought he said — good-bye! 

Was he too gone away to die? 

Pretty little perfect bird 

In his whole waste of sky 
Where only silence stirred. 

And what was of him to die 
Save his streaked pongee-peak 

Of feather, or his tattooed cheek? 

His song — from nothing did it come, 

To nothing is it gone 
As night winds between shingles drum 

And whistle and they pass on? 
Look the wild spaces by all your care 

There 's no "nothing" anywhere. 
1098 



My Wren 1099 

Once by his brook he stood 

To watch his image just below, 
While coax it as he would, 

The shadow would not come nor go 
Nor sing nor sigh — that way I think 

Soul is, just over the brink. 

One noon-moon he was singing 

In his plum-field, each note 
Made such a silver ringing 

As never a soul could quote 
As up through his pile of dark 

Flashed his song like a spirit-spark. 

Or over by my meadow wall 

How I could hear him call 
As if to draw me his way 

To get what he had to say 
Out of such divinity of heart. 

Watch how fine he played his part ! 

Did winds in tree-tops gong 

To interrupt his song, 
Quick would he leap to tune 

His key in keeping, tilt his rune 
To the rhapsody of noon 

Long as his day was long. 

Do so many days go by 

That I forget, or I cannot tell 
One note now of your threnody 

That last day you sang farewell? 
What an outrider, how you went 

To make your nest in the firmament! 



iioo My Wren 

Always have I thought 

What a Httle body you, 
Yet what soul you brought, 

Left it with me too 
That day I was your guest 

And you did your best 

To tell me more than I knew. 
Your voice of a far-ofE land 

And I looked and listened, while you 

Took slight hold with your tiny hand 

In your yew-branch, as if to show 

You knew such nobler way to go. 

Will you come back to me? 

May be never so! 
More is to think of and see 

Your unending way you go 
Through storm and moonbreak and dark 

With your harp of the lark. 

Now I follow you to look 

Out on the way you took 

Beyond your yew-nest and picture-brook 
For more than ever I knew. 

Out in your eternity of blue, 

Where one day I shall go to you. 



ELLA AND STELLA 



So you think your way of doing 

Is the best, 
To get what most you can and to never mind the rest 

And their ruing, 
So you rise to power and plunder 
And the other there goes under ! 



One moment, try a little thinking. 

Half a wit 
Will find, I think, one fatal law there just in back of it 

To put you blinking, 
Neither God nor man nor nation, 
But the nature of creation. 



Ill 



Here is one example for showing. 

Wholly true. 
How what you yield for love of right comes all back to you 

Without your knowing. 
Not by way of compensation, 
Just the nature of creation. 

IIOI 



II02 Ella and Stella 

IV 

Not once I thought of marrying — 

Half and half 
To make one whole so others should have a chance to laugh — 

So I was tarrying 
To think I could trick the kingdom 
Of love in its endless Springdom. 



Ella was true, but there was Stella 

Firmly bent 
That I should give myself to her, heart and soul intent, 

Make haste to tell her 
If I loved her — she was pretty 
As a pear-flower, more 's the pity 

VI 

Since Ella nowise had her Beauty, 

Could not boast 
Such cherry laugh, purple eye as most men fancy most, 

But just plain duty, 
Love of right and one wild passion 
To be honest and out of fashion. 



Yet her love of me, I knew it. 

Was as great 
As was Stella's, but modest, would linger and come late, 

For so she shew it 
By taking leave, always going 
So her friend could have first showing ! 



Ella and Stella 1103 

VIII 

Stella took another way of thinking, 

As you see 
By how she held her ground, meant to keep her hold of me, 

No kind of shrinking. 
Her truth this : Secure your inning. 
Life 's a game and worth the winning. 

IX 

Ella, of herself never thinking 

To an end. 
Would pull her own hope down to put hope up for a friend — 

I found her sinking 
Her whole self out of sight by trying 
To save another heart-ache, sighing, 



Like that day she came to me for saying. 

All her might. 
What a sweet girl Stella was, how true she was and bright- 

Not once betraying 
Her love of me, but only pleading 
Her friend's cause, no other heeding. 

XI 

Next day came Stella just to show me, 

For my sake, 
That for me to think of Ella would be one vast mistake, 

Tried to show me 
She was cold, could not love me. 
Or she thought herself above me. 



II04 Ella and Stella 

XII 

So, once I saw for plain how Ella, 

At a glance, 
Would shun me just to give her friend the better chance, 

I sought to tell her, 
(It was honest I should tell her) 
I could no way care for Stella, 

XIII 

Since now the fact was just her praises 

Of her friend 
Drew me to Ella, as a bee will drop to bend 

Among his daises — 
Ella was all love of duty, 
I was fastened by such Beauty ! 

XIV 

So I loved, so was I captured, 

So I swear, 
I could give soul and body to die for her right there 

— Captured and raptured — 
Yet she never could see really 
Why I loved her and so dearly. 



Just her love-of-duty Beauty 

With its power 
Could win me, could hold me to close me like a flower, 

Just Spirit-Beauty — 
There 's the subtle domination 
And nature of creation. 



FOR LOVE 

To arms for a ring of your steel, 

Spring of your heel ! 
A word and a blow, my man, 

For a country's need 

To cut and bleed, 
There 's the ring of your glory-plan! 

Belt you your belt 

To the naked pelt; 

Tuck knife and shot 

For love of God 

In the killing-slot ! 

Would you win me my way, 

You shall throttle to rip 
The red rose out of a brother-lip, 

Have havoc to pay ! 

To horse for a wing of your zeal, 

Sting of your heel ! 
Front you your front to arms, to horse 

For a way to will, 

A day to kill. 
There 's the core of a conqueror's cause! 

Shoulders to march 

Under gold blue arch; 

Buttons for pomp, 

High love of hell 
1 105 



iio6 For Love 

And the slaughter-romp ! 
A woman's to win, 
And the trick is this, 
To let not one cat-eye bullet miss 
The death-march in. 

Cut loose for power to abet. 

Glory to get ! 
What way else could you come a man 

Of the eagle-swoop 

And talon-scoop 
To make for power on the killing plan? 

Buttons for gold 

And heart as cold! 

Drum and bassoon 

And bugle-pitch 

To a coffin-tune! 

Am I to be won 

And you stop at cost? 
What 'though the whole of a world be lost 

If love be done! 

Strike fire for tongues to your sword 
So God be heard I 

Pledge me your pledge to cut and kill 
To carve you a name 
In gunfire fame 

For God's good hope and his Kingdom still! 
Conscience to rest 
And the better breast; 
Death to all heart 
And your love of man — 
There 's the hero-plan! 



For Love 1107 

A gun-crop creed, 
Your creed of the wise, 
That worlds are builded on sacrifice! 
What more 's to need? 

Here 's to death, that love may rest 

In one new breast! 
Here 's to love, that death may reap 

More love to spread 

Above the dead 
So I have you in my bosom-keep 

For love like this: 

A tooth and kiss 

For a gorgon's gust, 

The white fang-bite 

Of a tiger's lust 

And I am through! 

What matters the dead, 
Or what new worlds were born to be bled 

So I have you? 

To the strong the race — to the weak 

The white cold cheek ! 
Made was this world for more world-power 

To make him king 

Who could bite and sting 
His way like a lynx to the harvest-hour 

To reap his most 

Out of flesh and ghost, 

Prove him the man 

By a heart of steel 

On the hero-plan ! 

Is it not God's way, 

Power to bend 



iio8 For Love 

That all should yield to power in the end, 
Death and decay? 

This rose, tuck it inside your hilt — 
The lips will wilt 

While the stain will stay — one deep rud 
Of pluck in the jaw 
Of all killing-law 

For sign to you, like a spot of blood, 
To die so you see 
What death should be 
Which may not speak, 
Like a man should die 
With power in his cheek — 
Or, better, you kill 
Your man, I say! 

All wealth to him who can cut to slay 
By God's sweet will! 

By this shall you win me to wed, 

Nor count the dead; 
One sweet law, God made it so, 

For means of grace 

To en-soul a race, 
All power to power, and the weak must go! 

My arms to a kink 

Of the elbow-pink. 

My red lips you know 

And keen hot heart 

For one bosom-glow 

To be yours, I vouch, 

So you cut your way 
By havocy death to a bridal-day 

And conqueror's couch! 



UNDER SNOW 

Deepen the snow on her, 
Now her peace has been spoken, 
Now the dark path below has been broken; 
She for whom faith spread so Httle, 
From whom love plucked so little, 
So very little ! 

Let the flakes near to her, 
Her new sisters flounced in white 
To tumble from Heaven into pits of night; 
All 'round and near her let them lie, 
Thin frozen friends, how low they fly, 
How fast they die ! 

Would you fashion her dead 
There, nothing there under the snow, 
Or dropped as the just drop, gone as they go? 
Hark how these lapsing snow-flakes sigh. 
Deeper by far than doubt's low cry, 
"Nothing to die!/' 

What wild anathema 
To burst such thunder from a grave 
Which could not clutch what were not there to save. 
Sovereigns of earth in spirit stole. 
Love, sorrow, wisdom, and the whole 
To shape a soul ! 
1109 



I no Under Snow 

Nothing to die? And yet 
Heaven is just, each heart must crave 
Somewhat still statelier across the grave; 
While I, who see not, may not know 
What eyeless other flowers will blow 
Under the snow. 

What 'though her heart were poor? 
'Twas all she had, all that Heaven 
To her in her few days had ever given ; 
So much the larger grew her trust 
That Heaven wotild call her from the dust, 
And Heaven is just ! 

So lay her gently there, 
In keeping of this white pure night, 
Folded in arms of frozen light! 
Soft be thy farewell, soft and slow, 
Thy last whisper kind and low — 
Deepen the snow. 



PICKTHANK AND PRUDENCE 
Extravaganza 

About Pickthank I must tell you somewhat, 

What he is, what he is not; 
What he is I could tell in a jiffy; 

What he is not you would have to give me 
Such wagon-load of days to tell 

My story must lose half its spell. 
The look of him is the look about 

Of knowledge, nowl left out ; 
One level gaze, glass-eye style. 

To squint an inch and miss a mile; 
Plumb-jointed, and that king-born cut 

Of comeliness and cock-robin strut 
Would shame Apollo Belvedere 

To see him pirouette and peer 
As if almightiness were near; 

Flash in him to let you think 
Skylight bounded from his wink ; 

One topaz at his knuckles to leak 
Light out like a lemon's cheek, 

As if too sour at heart to speak; 
Puffing gum-bucket at his mouth 

As if he courted and sported drouth; 
Let the tree-swallow once be heard, 

And truth is — you have my word — 



Pickthank and Prudence 

He '11 rip the regions out of the bird; 

Once let his man-match hatch a cough 
With growl in it or little scoff, 

He '11 take the great gallop to be off! 
If you say water is meant to flow, 

He is sure to say you no 
To prove how he can flap and crow; 

Under his bella-sombra tree 
To take his ease lord-sumptuously. 

And the devil might take you or me; 
The world he sizes by his stick, 

He is born to have his lick, 
Success is just a devilish trick, 

So he is preordained to win 
By cunning and his pretty shin, 

Bull-brag and topaz-pin! 

Prudence is a girl 

Of the elfin cheek and curl 
And superabounding eyes 

Of high light and deep skies 
With which she looks her part 

She plays without an art. 
For life goes leaping from her heart. 

Gentle she is and so true 
Her sweet way she looks to you 

Out of confidence just, 
You give her your whole heart and trust, 

You go with her because you must. 
Look there to the mountain-side 

Where flowers gambol and bees hide 
In fly-leaf, bush-babblers sing 

For joy just, and heaven is king — 
There she goes between thistle-fur 



Pickthank and Prudence 1113 

And song-brook among summer-stir 
So you cannot tell them apart from her! 

Now the fennel is in leaf, 
Now this month begins to sing, 

She is closest to her reef 
Of moss-rock, is carolling 

Like a lintie full of spring, 
When comes her Pickthank lover along, 

Cuts her thought short and her song 
With— 

Pickthank 

You will do well 

To think well of me. 
Take me for spell, 

For belamy. 
Seeing I am what I am, 

Nor an intermix of sham, 
Mightied to be ultra-true. 

Minded to look eons through, 
Hearted to be one with you, 

To make my way upon earth 
Only by my wealth of worth. 

For so you do certainly see 
I am more than men as they go, 

More than they could try to be, 
More than they could hope to know! 

Look to my Apollo-make, 
Phoibos Apollo they speak me now; 

See what caracole I take 
To sidle and make my bow 

As never man in the world knew how; 
What shoulder to what a turn; 

How my jacket-buttons burn 



1 1 14 Pickthank and Prudence 

Like rockets in a new epergne! 

Taste is mine, by Heaven it is, 
And artful, and more than this, 

I make my target, hit or miss! 
Genius is mine, I know the click 

And whistle of his bailiwick. 
As this much I understand, 

'T is genius not to show your hand ! 
Men have wondered I could be 

So much pure prosperity 
Never once to know a want. 

Never yet to go askaunt. 
Never, too, to make a vaunt ! 

I 've a way of knowing how, 
I 've a way of knowing what. 

So I 'm nothing lacking now 
I have only you for thought. 

If only I had you for life, 
If only I had you for wife ! 

Prudence 

Being so much 

As you say you are 
For women to grutch, 

Men to par; 
Being so all 

Of what there is, 
Women look small 

For you to miss! 
What gift have I 

To match with you 
Who match the sky 

And this world too 



Pickthank and Prudence 1115 

As hangs the hawk 

'Twixt fire and dew 
Only to fork 

The wind to clew 
His wing to stalk 

The breathless blue? 
So great are you 

Beyond my sphere 
I bow to you, 

I hark and peer 
To get your true 

New whisper clear; 
To look to you 

As I look high 
As Yed to view 

Your frame of sky — 
So here is this truth for you to see, 

As truth it is and you must agree: 
You are too matchless good for me ! 



Pickthank 

Ah, but yoiirself you overlook! 

Ourselves we are not to see; 
Sapphire is in this iris juke, 

Iris in every romping bee, 
Which only I have an eye to see. 

In my tree-tower my lark is free 
To lift his soul Hke a God in glee. 

Yet is his soul not a breath of thee. 
Watch your necklace-bird in his wings 

Where gold nestles and the pink edge clings 
Like royalty 'round the hearts of kings, 



iii6 Pickthank and Prudence 

What count his hundred dyes 
Matched with your soul which men call eyes- 
Are they not only inverted skies, 
Wholly the image of Paradise? 

Watch the thousand lips on a river 
Spit fire and dance and sliver 

As if the sun had emptied his quiver — 
While you watch, the same sun dips, 

Yet adds never blush to your perfect lips. 
Over you as worlds are high 

Floats your larger other sky 
Of soul-superiority; 

Your eyes took the blue which is there, 
Your cheek took the pink for its share, 

Your brow the white of the whited air. 
Yet as atoms look they are small 

Beside your heart to which I call. 
Your soul which flies beyond them all. 

Here goes our flower-bee in his field 
Just to get the summer-yield — 

See, he will snuggle his nest 
Where sun snuggles and clover is best, 

Just as he will line his path 
Into afternoon for the lap it hath 

Of guava and lemon bath 
Only to pump at what sweet 

Lies hidden in a thistle's teat 
To rise high up to hover 

Well above rue or soolaclover. 
Thereso it is I put you there 

Beyond in the supernatural air 
To hover perfect and everywhere 

As light does and I see not whence 
It comes, or whither it goeth hence, 



Pickthank and Prudence 1117 

Till you arc like all light which kings 
The universal wanderings 

Of atoms to sparkle them through, 
Touch them with your Heaven of blue 

So they may share your Heaven with you. 
Atom am I, all the light are you 

To lend me of your sky of blue 
That I may share your Heaven with you. 

Prudence 

Am I so much 

As you say I am, 
Nought like me such 

In the diagram 
Of worlds I see, 

No star like me — 
Am I like light 

To reign above 
Supernal flight. 

Human love. 
To take my place 

Where the blue sky sits 
Beyond your chase 

Of baffled wits- 
Do I hold to what , 

Is power in me 
You question not, i 

My supremacy 
Of heart and soul 

To play my role 
Above mink or bole. 

Then is this truth for you to see, 
As truth it is and you must agree: 

I am too matchless good for thee! 



NOT YET! 

Quick up under these eaves ! 

Draw in their ivy-net about us! 

Quick, love, lest blood should spot the leaves, 

Lest his wild steel should rip and rout us ! 

Stand you here dark as death ! 
Heard you not our swish of arms? 
One moment, while I drop a breath : 
I was on your ledge of Cripple Farms ; 

Your brother, sword in hand, 
Leaped out from a shadow of a rock. 
Struck me across my shoulder-band 
With "Draw, now, coward for the shock!" 

One thousand iron stars 
Shot out and up in half a twinkle — 
Knives to spit fire between our scars, 
Then sip blood across the tinkle. 

Thrust upon thrust was sent, 
Lunge by lunge was caught and parried 
For this, because two souls were bent 
On being one, though never married. 

More passes, pass by pass 
Back to the rock — then one monster swing, 
Which spilt him like a thread of glass, 
Made these mountains yelp and ring, 
1118 



Not Yet! 1119 

Slick as shot to his feet, 

Then at me by one murderous blow ! 

I ducked behind the rock and fleet 

As breath struck up at him from below. 

His sabre caught an edge 
Of the mighty trap, struck it square 
Between the ribs, which sent the ledge 
To atoms 'round the howling air. 

"So will I send you too" 
He brawled, then dealt one wild-eyed stroke 
I dodged to run his shoulder through 
Snap upon the instant that he spoke. 

"That and that for you, 
Take that" he shouted and lost his head! 
I could have run him through and through 
To leave him to the eagles and the dead. 

But quick as strange enough 
The sun's palm struck him across the face 
Till I could see your look, my love. 
Your gentle look which marks your race. 

I could have struck you down 
As Hghtly, then, as cut him through; 
Your eyes, back-seated in his frown. 
Pinned me captive — 'twas a look from you! 

I tiirned and fetched his sword 

One swinging blow above the hilt, 

Which sent it plowing up the sward 

Right where his blood would have been spilt; 



Not Yet! 

And, then, "Hold up, my friend! 
You 're in the right, I am wrong ; 
For right is king till breath shall end, 
King above small and great and strong. " 

And then, "Here is my sword! 

Only Love is conqueror to-day; 

With it take my hand and word, 

This marriage shall be solemned when you say. 

So I left him there 

To string my offer about his thought; 
Well — he may yield, but have a care, 
All his fury up to top is wrought. 

Give him but time to think ; 
He will know I could not mean you wrong; 
Passion and Love are at the brink, 
Swords are weak — only Love is strong. 

Made was this world for love; 

Men have drained it down to thirst of care, 

Put iron bars about, above. 

And man is his own prisoner everywhere. 

Not to be trusted, then? 

This is God's first law for you and me? 

The world is ripe with savage men. 

So we must be handcuffed? — let us see: 

Do I not trust a friend, 
Stand him on his honor, man for man? 
Will he betrick me in the end, 
Trample on my trust because he can? 



Not Yet! II2I 

For honor comes of trust : 
Stand him on his honor, man for man ; 
He does not stand because he must, 
He does not slip me because he can. 

If honor come of trust, 
Then do not shackle me to my friend. 
Else he may stand because he must 
With half a mind to slip me in the end. 

So, too, would Love be free 
To be trusted once to try full wings; 
If trusted never by you or me, 
How may he leap to nobler things? 

How shall he wheel to flights 

Which wing a world up from common clod 

To circle about pale blue heights 

A little nearer the soul of God? 

Yet not yet — not just yet ! 

We could not leave half a world behind; 

They might remember to forget — 

Right is kind — make your way always kind. 

So must we stop to wait — 
Much patience to help a little on; 
Thin atoms shape a planet's fate. 
Shape a shapelier world when we are gone. 

Only to-day, there 's all! 
To-morrow another sun must rise; 
What 'though I do not hear the call 
To wake, if I helped to clear the skies! 



SUNRISE REVERIE 

One way is up to God, 

Another, to pull him down to you, 

And old or new. 
And evident or topmost odd, 
This one thing I hold in view, 
That nothing I see about 

Is worth a doubt. 

Or worth my faith to see 

What there is in it that I should mind 

To lose or find 
When this plain truth comes so straight to me : 
I leave the world behind, 
Each new wish, new ken, new gain, 

Yet I remain. 

One after one I drop 

The thing in this world I came to rate 

For proper great. 
An eye out always to some new top 
I took for coronal fate. 
And always to mark it vain — 
Yet I remain. 

Whatever I may get 

Which once I strove for by trouble-cup strife 
For very life 



Sunrise Reverie 1123 

Leaves one thing lacking but better yet, 
A new bud straight above my knife 
To climb to before I clip 
The citron lip. 

I may not understand 

The whole, since there is no whole for me 

Which I may see, 
No finite in an infinite hand, 
No past, all things to be, 
And I and my climbing heart 

One clinging part. 

I make from small to grow 

To larger than what I see around 

In sky or ground, 
As one after one my idols go 
I thought once diamonded, profound — 
So as my world smalls I see 

The more in me. 

Put this down, then, for true, 

That I must be moving — this no place 

To end a race 
Of heart-leaps such as I and you, 
But starter just, to set the pace 
So I gather full and fair 

To the thing and square. 

Put this down, too, for right : 
What world I gain I lose in the end, 

Harvest and friend, 
Yet is there left me myself in sight; 
So is it, I will contend, 



1 124 Sunrise Reverie 

That the one thing clean above sky and sod 
Is Man the God; 

Opportunity to do 

What he will, you leave the handcuffs off 

And space enough, 
Nor try to shape him to God or you. 
He to ripen in the rough, 
And that wise you put the test 

Which gets his best, 

He the man to become 

More of him as this life plumps and spills 

Nor once fulfills — 
Not you to dare to strike him dumb, 
Nor cake him to taste and frills 
Which pack your fancy — he too 

As wise as you, 

But not your will, perhaps, 

Or gentler, with not the iron-stuff 

Or gut enough 
To butt against you lantern-chaps 
Who see, not the man, but your rough 
Cheap Heaven or a gain to gain — 

How monstrous vain, 

Seeing, as I have seen. 

How the thing I seek will wrinkle up 

Like a poppy-cup, 
How lush-like ever it may have been 
Or wondrous in the summing up. 
Dust-heap and vacant and vain — 

Yet I remain. 



Sunrise Reverie 112 • 

Not one thing I may get 

Outside of me, whatsoever Heaven 

Is seized or given, 
Could compensate just a jet 
For self-made power from which I was driven 
By bribe or threat or pain 

To clutch at gain. 

What is there I would keep 
Forever, of things men strive at so? 

Or would I know 
This life I have of cark and sleep. 
Bee-treacle or porgy-blow. 
Or that man I call a friend, 

Would never end? 

Take planeted sun and suns' 
Vast star-stuff to dot eternal place 

For me to face — 
I count more worlds like the nearer ones 
I know of, yet not a trace 
Of spirit such as I see 

Is all of me. 

They would not fill me up. 
Rounded bold eons of flame and dew 

I 'm wonted to. 
Nor put one drop in my morrow-cup, 
Nor flash my path, nor point me through 
To where I must come one day 

By another way. 

To want somewhat, to add 
To my star-field one more strip of sky 
Or sunstone eye 



1 126 Sunrise Reverie 

For more worlds coupled to what I had, 
Would leave me with this same I 
Larger than they, as before, 
And vastly more. 

So is man great enough 

To outreach what he may touch or see 

Eternally 
In earth here or those domes above 
Of what now is or shall be, 
That he may come straight to this. 

How greater he is 

Than what he pants to get. 

The thing itself, be it clod or star 

Or Subahdar, 
From sun-sweep to mignonette, 
That he may see, near and far. 
How the uttermost fetch is man 

And man and man, 

Not heaps of gold nor suns 

Nor one thing thought of that can be seen, 

By which I mean: 
Man dogs a path the spirit runs, 
Small matter what his catch hath been, 
As over the star-spotted whole 

Is Man the Soul; 

Not heaps of hope to make. 

Nor God to get to, nor Heaven to gain, 

Since that were vain 
For such as strive or my meaning take, 
That all which he may obtain 



Sunrise Reverie 112 7 

Counts only to make him man 
On the spirit-plan. 

Nor matters it what end 

I aim at, be it God or peace or gain 

I wotild attain 
To pay mc for loss of field or friend, 
Comes there this full truth again: 
Be recompense great or small, 

This man is all. 

Made was the world for man, 

He not to be tyranted by God or Spook, 

Priest or Book, 
So he come to power by the nobler plan 
Each new stalk of blossom took, 
To make of him more each day 

To force his way 

By power of virtue, will. 

Whole heartfulness, self -dependant might 

By what is right. 
Autocracy of soul until 
He come to have no gain in sight 
Nor triumph above the sod 

But Man the God 

To lord it over death 

By power of mighty whole heart-ring true, 

Endurance too, 
Soul-soulfulness to one fine sweet breath 
No God may snuff out or undo, 
And he shall have eyes to scan 

All power in man. 



1 1 28 Sunrise Reverie 

Let me suppose I place 

My God in his Heaven for power so 

I come to know 
His will to bow to it, take his ways, 
Knock under, beg "yes" or "no," 
Will I, by such puppet-plan, 

Come more the man? 

Will I, by fear or faint, 

By duck-under to Power that is. 

Do more than this: 
Put me inside such snug restraint 
For one certain path to cowardice? 
May I, within such diagram, 

Grow all I am? 

Not up to God, nor yet 

To pull him down to you, but to gain, 

By might and main, 
Such power in you as shall set 
The soul of you to law and reign 
God-fashion, nor count the odds, 

Since "Ye are Gods." 



VIRTUTE, NON ASTUTIA 

So you think man great 

By bulge of pate, 

By what he thinks, 

Soul measured by sprints and links, 

By power to plot, 

Cut Gordian knot, 

And men are Gods 

If they find the odds 

Between dyx 

And dyz, 

As if things were complex 

In divinity! 

Man is great, 
So you have said, 
By his posttilate, 
By his round of head 
If he measure up a sun, 
Find the path the planets run, 
Swing a sword 
To grave his word, 
Scatter letters 
To his betters, 
Dig his fathom xyz-ly, 
Great if he think keen and freely. 
1129 



1 130 Virtute, Non Astutia 

Man is great, 

So you have taught, 

If he propagate 

New matchless thought 

By which to Hft 

His multitude 

Just to boast his gift 

Of giving good. 

Man is great. 

Yet you shall see, 

To link his fate 

With sublimity. 

To dare to do his soulfullest best, 

Blessed if only the world be blest. 

Mark you this spot 

By the corner-end 

Of our resting-lot — 

There the willows bend, 

Wild flowers are there 

To play their part, 

To yield their heart 

To this clasping air — 

What shall he say 

Who is gone away, 

Who lies here now 

As the dead know how 

Under his yoke 

Of scarlet oak 

With its big brown elbow-bough? 

He could not write. 
He could not sing; 
His was one might 
Of mastering 



Virtute, Non Astutia 1131 

Almighty ends 

By little means, 

So the moons were friends, 

Flowers were queens, 

Each leaf was a book of veins, 

Spirit was there, 

Power and to spare, 

Heaven in the ditch and rains. 

Across his hill 
Grasses are warm; 
About his mill 
Is his cricket farm, 
A note in E sharp 
Like an August harp; 
Each moon-fern flirts 
In velvet skirts; 
Boon in a bush. 
Talk in a leaf, 
Such evening hush 
Between pond and reef! 

I see his plow 
Where he left it last, 
His dumping-scow, 
Powder-blast ; 
His box of nails 
And knots are there, 
His flocks of quails 
In the riddled air 
As he was once. 
By force of good, 
To level his brunts 
At evilhood, 



1 132 Virtute, Non Astutia 

To hold to his art 

Of doing his part 

By his arm and heart. 

Little he knew 

Of X or z ; 

Wholly he grew 

To do and be, 

Held prosperity in fee, 

For life with him went honestly 

To uppermost endeavor, 

If blunt or clever, 

To keep one law 

The planets write, 

Fineness and height 

Worth climbing for. 

So he 's king alone, 

By my word he is. 

To mount his throne 

Of precipice. 

His little brood 

He leaves behind; 

,They take his good, 

Keep his heart and mind, 

Hang to his ways. 

Harvest his crops 

Of laurel-bays 

When summer stops, 

Build steeples of com, 

Birds for bells, 

So soul is born 

Where the wind-heap knells. 



Virtute, Non Astutia 1133 

What good he was, 

That they get 

By law of cause 

And coronet — 

They are mood of him 

And trued of him 

While so they climb 

Into lofty time 

To look back now 

To the cricket farm, 

Pick and plow, 

Meadow balm, 

This much to sec : 

Man is great to grow 

Sublimity 

By virtue so 

To last when he is gone — 

So good in a man passes on and on. 



Will they not keep 
His mighty heart 
To sow and reap, 
Play counterpart 
To what he did 
His simple way 
He piloted 
In his little day, 
Put virtue first 
By one strong arm. 
Put wrong to worst, 
Keep his spirit-charm 
To play true and late, 
Which uncastles Fate?- 



1 134 Virtute, Non Astutia 

So he examples on and on, 

So a man speaks when he is gone. 

I knew him then, 

I know them now. 

His httle ones — ten, 

Each of noble brow. 

All the make-up of kinging men, 

All the father over again. 

They lead me down 

To where he lies 

When the leaves are brown. 

When the wine-field dies — 

They take me by the hand 

In a knowing way 

To have me understand 

All they have to say, 

Which is more than Plato's masterpiece — 

Soul is great in the hearts of these. 

They will grow, I said. 
Beyond the dead; 
They will ripe to bloom 
About his tomb. 
Flowers of Paradise 
Handsomer than the wise, 
Columns of State 
Greater than the great 
By Beauty, which is Power, 
By Power, which is Beauty 
In moon or flower 
To engender heart, 
Give soul a start 
Past the passing hour. 



Virtute, Non Astutia 113 5 

Down we sit, 

Children and I, 

In our grassquit fit 

To capture sky 

And the tuning world 

And the bumping air 

Like our grassquit whirled 

In his summer there. 

He lies below, 
They hover above; 
They come and go. 
They bring their love, 
Train the white jacinth 
About his bed, 
Prop the corinth 
Above his head — 
His is the soul of them 
To the jacket's hem 
For masterful endeavor 
Beyond what is clever. 
So they sweeten their voice 
Like a gift of joys. 
They make the most 
Of this climbing ghost, 
Like flocks of trumpet-birds 
They silver his words — 
So a man speaks on and on, 
Is with us after he is gone. 



ELBOWS 

You love work — why of course — 

I see it in you, 

Such round-up of unbottled force, 

Knotted sinew 
As task could not hope to withstand 
If you put shin to it, head and hand. 

Genius is love of work. 

So you are clean at it, my friend, 

No aim being yours to trick to shirk 

To dodge an end, 
Since I now know you by snug study 
For twice the size of a duddy-cuddy. 

Most folk to look to you 

Would doubt your breath of soul is this, 

To keep life's labor-licks in view 

So not to miss 
Hack at something, small matter what, 
So you get your licks in, hit or not. 

Who could have thought you knew 
The trick of life is, peg by peg. 
To peg away at it, dead or new, 

Thistle or skeg. 
So you get any kind of scar 
To wear— what matters it what you are 
1136 



Elbows 113 7 

If you stick to your move 
With never an idle hand? 
Here is a thing you go to prove 

You understand, 
How small appears the spiritual notion 
If men make life perpetual motion ! 

You write! — ah, so — I see! 
Suppose you get a pen in tow 
To take a hand at it for me, 

So well I know 
Your great freshet of sun-pool smile 
And look of light — no pickle-stale style. 

That last monologue of yours 

Put me guessing how many times 

I wore your thought, whole tens and scores, 

Without the rhymes — 
We think alike, as matter of course, 
Only this difference of elbow-force! 

Small use we both should think, 

For that were waste if I have your brains; 

Suppose now you paddle at the ink 

To take all pains 
To square your elbow for style of mimes 
While I ring down the trumpet-rhymes. 

For see, for once, this truth : 

Never you thought one human thought 

Since you were bottled up by youth 

Which was not wrought 
By so many thousand heads before 
You could not reckon to foot the score. 
72 



1 13 8 Elbows 

All men think — catch at that — 

They think bright well, too, I '11 have you know. 

Before you try for laureate 

Or furbelow; 
Yet is there left them this pale need 
Of more of your pumping elbow-speed. 

Genius is common catch 
As any end of a pretty trick 
Snapped in a game of parlor-match 

Arithmetic — 
One hard real want of men has been 
More stomach back of the eye-light keen. 

Well, you have it, my chum, 
Full belHness you, full up, 
Whether it come of treacle-rum 

Or moly-cup. 
So stick to your stomach and my brains 
And we '11 have pastime to count the gains ! 

Force — put peg in there. 

You who can suck your longest breath 

To squirt my thought out, never you care 

For life or death — 
Force shall man you to take the brunt, 
Put you mightfully to the front 

•< 
And I your spirit-part 
With my white nostril, pit-sunk eye, 
To put my candle-glow to your art 

Clean capapie. 
While you, having swallowed fire, 
Will belch my flame up to blow it higher. 



Elbows 1 139 

Just to look to your chops 

And red-skin cheek of bloatful puff 

And a farmer would look to his crops 

For kernel enough 
To give you full face- value — you see 
That jowl was a lucky thing for me ! 

Jest aside, somehow I thought 
Soul is value to make for way 
And width and power, 'though it may be not 

In one life or day, 
Since value is value — prisoned pearl 
Will one day capture to lord an earl. 

You will come out like the hidden star 
Which takes whole cons to throw one torch 
To a purpose to where we are 

For landlight or scorch ; 
One agate will take all time to blue ; 
Doubt not all time was made for you. 

There then 's the why I thought 

This soul of mine would stand for power 

Whether I wrote a line or not, 

Lived a life or an hour; 
Yet peg away at it, fine or coarse, 
You of the fire-new elbow-force! 



FEARFULNESS 

Over my garden-gate 

And the hour was late 
And he came whistling up the lawn 
Looking his best to look upon, 
And I, who only the day before 
Saw him duck and trim 
To my rival more 
Of his gallantry 
Than ever to me — 
Should I smile and sweeten to him? 

Is there a way to know 

What a man will do 
Once he is out of sight of you 

And free as a hawk to come and go? 
She is one pretty-looking woman, 
Eyes of hibiscus-blue 
So wholly human 
And wondrous true 
I saw him prefer 
To keep his best front and flower for her. 

Yet why he comes to me 

Just wasting his hours 
In pretty talk like perfidy 

As if to trick me by smiles and flowers? 
1 140 



Fearful ness 1141 

How could he love her and love me too, 
I should like to know? 

Here 's a howdy-do, 

A pipe to blow. 

He in my heart for fair. 
Yet jasmine-sweet to the other there! 

Never I thought of that, 
How a man may be 
Tricky-trappy as a cat 

To make a fool of the heart of me, 
And for what, and all of it for what 
Was the thing I thought 
As I saw him now 
At his handsome bow 
And best to look upon. 
And he there whistling up the lawn. 

Right as he came my way 

I turned to a flower, 
My branch of globularia, 

To see if the lips would turn to play 
Their tiny mighty shower 
Of sweetness and pink 
Just to let me think 
He could not put away 
My love of him so soon 
And just this dahlia-day of June. 

There as he came I turned 

As if I neither saw 
Nor took a thought of him or care 

Of what he purposed or angled for, 
While all the sweet time I chilled and burned 

To think of him there, 



1 142 Fearfulness 

To know he was near 
And so wondrous dear, 
And I to lose him now 
With his bHndfold-face and clouded brow 

To never see my love 

Was wider than hers, 
Strong as death and more than enough 

To gladden him as a south wind stirs 
The bobolink to song — there my flower 
Was saying to me now : 
Great love is a power, 
Knows the when and how — 
When, from my rose-bush bough, 
I gave him such welcome, you know how, 

As you know too the way 

A girl will cover 
Her heart-sting from her gainly lover 

Just to see what he has to say, 
To try to read him once through and through 
If she may unknot 

The puzzle in him, seek 

To try him, make him speak 

If he will or not — 

There was my way I angled and thought 

As now I bent my head 
To look to the grass 
To see if the new arbutus said 

"You are all he thinks of, all he has" — 
Poked the stems with my sunshade-point, 
Nothing was out of joint, 
Only my restless heart. 
My school-girlish art, 



Fearfulness 1143 

I a whole sotilful to tell 
How I loved him so true and well. 

"But she has blue wide eyes, 

The other one has, 
Sky-lighted, and she looks linnet-wise. 

While never would she let you pass, 
And you must stop for a word with her, 
The which you prefer 
To a life with me — 
So you see I see 
How a man may be 
Double and treble and quarterly. 

"How may a man do this: 

To think of a girl 
As wholly only for always his 

From shoe-string up to temple-curl, 
Yet look away to another to fly 
To her lip and eye 

As if there were more 
For him to adore 
Than soul has to give? 
Love shall be true to be love to live. " 

A figpecker dropped to sing 

In a branch of plum 
Like he were doing his best to ring 

New lyrics in his Elysium, 
Each new note like a word from him 
Begging her to forbear: 

Love was more than a whim, 
More than a life to spare. 
Power was love and truth 
And she could trust to his heart of youth. 



1 144 Fearfulness 

"No doubt her eye is blue," 

He lazily said, 
"Yet so are the skies and eyes of you; 
Her lips, too, are rounded and red, 
Her brow like a throne of soul on high, 
Yet you are the same. 

And she not to blame 
For such blue in her eye — 
Blue-bell eyes, catawba lips, 
And, lo, the honey-fly dips and sips! 

"Only the shock of clay. 

Never a grain of soul 
Is there in her eyes to dance and play 

As sky whistles or wind-beams bowl! 
Think you a man thinks a thing of eyes, 
Of the quill of a nose, 

When the thing he spies 
Is spirit which blows 
Into Beauty as rich 
As bells of gold in your garden-ditch? 

" Much as her lips are red, 
' Much as her eyes are blue, 

Now all has been circum-said 

I '11 tell the truth of the thing to you: 
Because her lips were red, 

Because her eyes were blue. 

Because the tilt of her head 
And hand was like you, 
I could not pass her by 
Since you were there in her lip and eye 

"As there you are to see 
In my fence of phlox. 



Fearfulncss 1145 

Just as my lemon-flower holds one bee 
Shut in the one sun-wonder box — 
He leaves the outside pink he eyed 
For the heart-sweet deep inside, 
Prisoner to stay 
To his latest day — 
Could her blue outside eyes undo 
My love of the inside soul in you ?" 



A FRIEND 

Oh, and you should have seen him! 

What a face to unscreen him 
And yet to come between him 

And what men thought he was after. 
One dish of peace, cup of laughter 

This world counts for so much, 
Yet so beyond his touch ! 

Kind he was to the fine fibre, 

Was constantest subscriber 
To the highest point of view 

Of the universe or you — 
Always he looked to you- ward. 

Careless as a drunken steward 
If you looked to him or not. 

Of what he lost, of what he got, 
So he should manage to do 

His best turn for me, for you. 

His was not fatuous concern 

About pea-bobble feathers, 
How much the sky shall churn 

To give us a pocketful of weathers, 
How that small man takes such chance, 

Dodges heavy circumstance. 
Lifts his soul to foot the dance, 

Makes a life of hats and pants. 
1 146 



A Friend 1147 

Close would he watch for half a day 

A wryneck in a clump of quick 
To see his eye toss, hear him pick 

And rummage for his life his way 
For all there was was good of it 

He saw or understood of it, 
Lived to love his tiny life 

For the hunger in it or strife. 

Never thumb-screwed thought was his, 

Freedom was not battered down; 
Life, he said, was precipice, 

A way to climb, ample crown 
To no end of zenith to capture 

Power — there was his rapture 
To know he could climb and climb 

To all purpose and no end of time. 

Nothing he knew to fear. 

Since man is his own God, and here 
Master of his own destiny. 

Maker of what he is to be. 
Power in him to rise 

Beyond the limbo of skies. 
Nought to encoward him, and so 

He knew a way to do and go 
High as the soul may know. 

One would speak him; "You do not come 
Our Gay-Day to our Kettledrum; 

How little you look to care 

For what we offer to you there, 

Thumb-talk and grog to spare. 
Women in carded hair! 



1 148 A Friend 

You let the world go by 

Hands down, you and your climbing eye. " 

"Never I let the world go by! 

I live in it to do my much 
Or little, my purpose such 

I raonarchize my destiny 
By what I am, by what I do, 

Sure as yonder yellow and blue 
Cut the bold thunder-cloud through 

Always to play at yellow and blue. " 

"Would you build us a church, " another said, 
So our Christ may be heralded?" 

"Not Christ, but love in the world is what 
You need to boost your human thought 

Above church, beyond worshiping 
To grapple with this real thing : 

Man for master, man for king, 
Man to come supra-worldish great 

By love to learn to dominate 
Beyond your little belt of tape 

And symbol, shape a shapelier shape. 

"Yonder is your cathedral, 

Your heap of gold — you gave your all ; 
Yet yonder, only next door. 

Your city of the sick and poor; 
You give your gold to God, 

His children to the sod. 
And this your altar for voucher. 

As if God were jaws and hungry butcher. 

"You do well for the round reward 
You claim of the paymaster, God; 



A Friend 1149 

Always you dodge the rough of it, 

You whiten at a cuff of it, 
Never you work for love of it ! 

Or you play right for fear 
If you play wrong God will spear 

To prick a nerve, start a tear. 

"As if I am not to be 

My best for love of mastery. 
For love of the thing I do 

Strong and clean as the sweep of blue 
High sky I look and travel to; 

As if I am not to get 
Most of me, nor mind the let, 

Nor mind your Book of bribe and threat! 

"Not for fear of the law. 

But for love of it I go 
Straight to what I straighten for, 

My most I am, the best I know 
To make my way by force 

Of virtue and a conqueror's course 
Of kindness, of what is true 

Of the God in me I largen to 
For not a fear but He shall nod 

Assent and I my own Christ and God. '* 

Just a loud-hearted girl was I, 

Ran as summer runs in leaves 
Where the thistles and robins fly, 

Bees whistle, Oregon weaves 
Sun-song into nests of thought 

I flew to as eagles fly 
Out against the unknown sky 



II50 A Friend 

Of everywhere, and not 
A way to fall, a place to die. 

J 
My Friend, and he so great, 

And I so loved him — he 
So nested in the heart in me 

I would watch and scarce could wait 
His coming his morning hour 

To bring me his trumpet-lily flower 
To liken me to it and to say : 

Being is not for a day and hour! 
Yonder what fountains of night-light play. 

Worlds which come and go their way, 
Yet is all Being there come to stay! 

Once was a child to the wayside tost 

As any waif the waves have lost; 
The child could not know a thing 

Of this world and its hankering 
To crush out what is weak, 

To not let an angel speak 
If he have not the iron cone 

Of skull, muscle of blood and bone; 
Nothing the small child knew 

Of what this brave world likes to do 
To split the perfect heart in two. 

There as the small poor child 

Looked to him, purred and smiled, 

He could not wait, but out of all harms 

Gathered the waif to his heart and arms, 

Gave her his love he had and shelter 
From sin-bite, from hell-pelter, 

Lured her up to be strong, 



A Friend 1151 

Fed her on thought and song, 
Loved her his true Hfe long. 

Never to her could be such another, 

Such consummate soul of a brother 
And friend and lover to do 

The thing always which was kind and true, 
He so ultra-worldly great 

As not in this life to hesitate 
To do his best, come what would 

Of loss to him or any good, 
While so as his life went by 

Beauty rushed to him out of his sky 
As evening clouds get the kingcup dye. 

Now no sooner has she grown 

To girlhood, her morning's morn, 
Than she is one day left alone, 

Looks for her friend and he is gone 
As a star behind a cloud, and I doubt 

And whimper and think the light is out. 
As if what God gives could be taken. 

As if human hope could be shaken 
By what I see about 

Where only the clouds go out, 
Never the flash of a star 

To reach me from no end of far! 

The child was I to the wayside tost; 

The girl am I, and my friend is lost; 
What, then, of this midwinter thought: 

Cold is king, summer is nought 
And I shall have him no more 

True and gentle as before. 
But all of him which was meant to last, 



1 1 52 A Friend 

Beauty which the skies hold fast, 
Is withered, and his day is past? 

Put an ear to what sweep of tune 

My lark shouts to this pompous noon 
Wheeling 'round the wheeling moon ! 

Put an ear to the ground, 
Catch the whisper of each breeze 
I Through the violets — is there* found 

Any lip like one of these, 

Any such whisper to tell 
How I loved him, any farewell 

Among the grasses where he lies, 
Any sign that this orange bell 

Hugs my heart less because it dies? 



LONGINGS OF AN ACOLYTE 

I APPREHEND this earth for man was made 

As ground under foot is for root and spade 

And the power of flowers — man for master 
To the last ditch, and no disaster 

To a true soul, you lying pastor! 

I apprehend I am put up to be 

My unique scope of majesty, 
Which comes not of subserviency. 

Of the poltroon trickery of monks 
Who play at threats like troops of skunks 

At barnyard practice — better I scoff 
At safe distance to snicker and keep off ! 

I apprehend life has meaning 

More than any kind of careening 

About God to quob or to droop. 

To parade your bombastic stoop 

Of worship, make me least of all, 

My thought as wide as your pew is small, 

Your God to dilate if I limp and crawl ! 

I apprehend I am put up to do 

My highmost as I am clean through 

And not the slap of a lip of you 

To nail me to your cross of thought 

And I am to be sold and bought, 
And I am to be what I am not. 
73 1 153 



1 1 54 Longings of an Acolyte 

I apprehend the blue in yonder ceiling 
Of space is blue as this flower is blue 

Which never doubled thumb for kneeling, 
But strikes at Heaven, straight at it too, 

To swallow storm, pocket new blue 

To stand there straight as the straight Heavens do, 

All its own unique unity too. 

I apprehend I am meant to flower 

Into my empyrean of power 
And not to be clipped, and not to cower 

To your God or you to play wax 
Between the fingers of your lacks 

To come to nothing, to come to you 
To take your print and bugaboo. 

I apprehend it is meant for me 

Not to be bowing and scraping to God, 

Humble as any humble-bee 

Content in his one honey-pod 

To suck, to give up sovereignty, 
To dip his soul in the sod. 

Oh for a wing to fly and be free. 

Free as a wind tickles among leaves. 

Free of these knuckle-gems, this majesty 

Of pomp-light which so wholly bereaves 

Brain of power to be thinking. 

Puts me to my knees to be shrinking 

As a newt shrivels in a strong storm — 

As if this gabata could keep me warm, 

This doctored draught of thought know a way 

Of dealing me the light of day, 

This candlestick, this altar-top cup 

Show me the truth of things bottom up. 



Longings of an Acolyte 1155 

Foot-foremost and inside out — 

Oh give me your chance to kick and doubt ! 

Give me your chance to be ever great 

Never because I see the bait, 

But wholly highly to float above it, 

Greatness only because I love it! 

How like a twinge I fear to think, 
Lest God be there to snap his wink. 
There to snap and snufi" me out 
If I grow bluff enough to doubt! 
Which way to turn if I go? 
Follow my nose or your toe? 
Little, I 'm thinking, comes of thought 
If I 'm to be what I am not, 
You the great truth to be sought ! 

Oh for a breath of honest field 
Where dizzy grasses straight and yield 
Each its own way since was begun 
Independence below the sun! 
Yonder cottage sits in the rye. 
Nut orchard and lake next by, 
A thousand sheep on the hills. 
Nothing known of your crooked ills, 
Supper nights and city pills — 
Here is the breath of Heaven 
Like a breath of spirit driven; 
Whence it cometh, where it goes 
Who cares, who is there knows? 
Walk would I my walk to see. 
Talk would I my talk to be. 
Pounce on my truth so to go 
My way my soul beckons, so 



1 1 56 Longings of an Acolyte 

What care I for your potted strut 

Among altars, your heaving gut 

Of promise of your Heaven in view? 

By Heaven I '11 not have Heaven with you! 



Oh for one tortoise-colored cottage 

To sit in the rye, 
Majestic by its mighty shortage, 

By the lake next by. 
By the way the chimney-swallows light 

To stay over night, 
Tapestry of bindweed close about 

The rain-water spout, 
My couch just under the roof at night 

When the rains play light 
To give me a taste of what is wrought 

Beyond human thought 
So high over oboe or bassoon. 

Just spirit in tune; 
I to my orcharding, to my crop 

Of orris and hop : 
Voice in the wind and window shutter 

One word to utter, 
That I am vastways greater than what 

Comes of hops or thought, 
Meant to be Commodore of my fleet 

Of all flying sweet 
About my meadows or through my barn 

To my mountain tarn; 
Valley-flowers, the bull-brier to gather, 

To have them rather 
Than any stripe of gimp or galloon 

You sport in prune ; 



Longings of an Acolyte 1157 

Sirgangs matched to the sweet of a tree 

To canticle me; 
And she — why, she also would be there 

In her raven hair, 
Eyes twice deep unconscious true, 

All the heart all through, 
Such the pink of a lip in her cheek 

I think it will speak. 
Such the rhapsody in her voice 

Of a harp of joys 
As sends the wind, by her carol driven, 

To carol in Heaven — 
She, of an evening and twice as fair, 

To be by me there, 
We the triumphant heart together, 

Nor thought of whether 
You in your pickle- wisdom approve 

Of our day of love — 
Ay-vine above, just over our door, 

To drop us such store 
Of strong contentment as only springs 

Of such power as swings 
All soul at this universe of fate 

To stand lasting great. 
Force against force so to trample down 

Whip-snap and frown 
By virtue of superlative Right, 

I God in my might. 
And your bold See-Bull may bellow-gong 

To your coward throng. 
May plaster their faces with your thought 

Till their soul be nought 
But your soul which is printed there 

In fact and for fair 



1 1 58 Longings of an Acolyte 

As any other mouldable clay 

Takes the potter's play — 
We two there in our cottage door 

Twisting hellebore, 
We two only, just I and my love 

God and Goddess enough 
To throne our thought in yonder spaces 

Where every place is 
For every purpose and dream and end 

And undying friend, 
Where every here is and hereafter 

Of climbing rafter. 
All things surmounting to more and more 

Than all heretofore — 
Fathomless place of power that I 
May ripen by the power I ply. 

Such a girl once I knew in her prime, 
I in my prime too; 
Near it was about lilac time. 
Spring kept the flowers in view 
As I kept her, my flower, in heart, 
And Fall might come, play its part, 
Put sickle to summer, yet was I 
Closer than ever to my sky 
Where my flowers refuse to die 
Because their sky is made of June, 
Made of a zenith always noon. 
Girl and boy, we there together, 
Danced like robins through the hether, 
Light and free as wind and feather, 
Two hearts to the top of summer. 
Cooked such fancies in the sun. 
Hunted so the honey-plumber, 



Longings of an Acolyte 1159 

Saw the wax-flower pop and fun, 
Galloped as a cloud is driven, 
Just the bright side up to Heaven — 
Such her rich white tiny hand, 
Nameless Beauty to understand, 
Yet so secret as spirit land — 

She about to put her lip 

Flower-like up to my sun. 

Her fii;;st taste, take her dip 

Of life, her Hfe just begun, 

When you came — there I saw you come 

Pumping your low reverend hum 

Of buncombe, of how Hfe is vain, 

A thing to lose, that way to gain 

Another and a fairer life 

Than heartful mother, flawless wife — 

As if you could make it plain 

Greatness breeds by love of gain ! 

A few laps of your fustian-tongue, 

You masterful, she so young 

As not to know soul is to keep 

Possession of as the breath I reap. 

She passed your way, went she with you 

Into her dungeon — the air is blue 

In your dungeon, poison through 

To the death-bite, hellish too 

To pin spirit, spit it through 

To the quick so never one word 

Above "Your Reverence" be heard. 

There she lies now in her bed ; 
There she dies too — good as dead; 



ii6o Longings of an Acolyte 

Never knew a nobler thing 
Than simpering and withering 
To win Heaven, to buy her place, 
Pay the price, her wasted face. 
Her mean portion, cursed case 
In exchange for Elysium-lot, 
As if this spirit could be bought! 

Never came her chance to know 
Life is one God's way to go. 
Give and take, blow for blow, 
To hammer back the Furies so 
I come to somewhat, I am more 
Than whining poodle at your door 
To worship, knuckle down, implore, 
As if I am not meant to be 
All the God there goes in me 
Down to the God's eternity! 

Never was open to her to know 
Life is one Godfullest wa\^ to go 
To masterdom between kiss and blow, 
Day-storm of flowers meant to melt 
To sweetness if the night-storm pelt. 

Never she knew there is coward to play, 

Coward to run from the world away. 

Coward to hide in your drowsy swamp, 

Coward to dwindle at your pomp, 

Coward to dodge a world which grows 

Beauty by the chisel-blows. 

Coward to hide behind a cross, 

Take the gain and not the loss ! 

Be the way no matter how hard, 

Who would fall from power, play coward? 



Longings of an Acolyte ii6: 

There so she passes away 

Out of her Hfe of day, 

Out of her rights of a woman 

To play the God, play human, 

Gather power in the world to do 

Noblest, which is kind and true 

For never any Heaven in view, 

For fear of neither God nor you. 

Help another to it too — 

So there she withers like a fork 

Of phoenix on your dungeon-stalk. 



Next you turn to me, 
Dart your poison fang, 
Spit and hiss decree. 
Let me feel the pang, 
I as young as not 
Once to doubt of you 
If you have a thought 
Which is free or true. 



Came you like a thief 
Prowling in my night. 
Gave me your belief, 
Which is lack of light. 
Caught me by the slack 
Of my slouchy mind 
Just to hold me back. 
Keep me well behind 
What is best in youth. 
All my love of truth, 
All myself, forsooth — 
There 's your poison tooth! 



ii62 Longings of an Acolyte 

Here I drool in plight 
Like a wad of dough, 
Subject to your might, 
You that shaped me so 
I should take your tricks, 
Take your nightmare mix 
Of low candle-light 
And great altar- height, 
Keep your Creed for blight, 
Keep your Hell for fright, 
Keep your Heaven in sight. 

You are my kind Father- Priest; 
You love souls, so much at least 
As any bull-rat loves his feast; 
Your cheap chant enslaves and dumbs, 
Spittles through your tiger-gums, 
Holds me in your brood of thumbs. 

Breathe I to be overawed 
Once I hear you yelping "Lord"? 
Law, not Lord, contrives to lord it, 
Mankind made to be law-lorded, 
Never dominioned by your God 
Or you — always Law is Lord. 

Man first, God next, 

My pulpiter — there 's your text! 

God in the universe for what 

Makes me master, makes not 

God to rule my spleen, my thought 

So I come to take your trot. 

Your bit to jounce in my teeth, 

Your hand at the very breath I breathe. 



Longings of an Acolyte 1163 

Man first, God next, 
My Greedy — mark the text! 
Give my brother man his chance 
To outkingdom circumstance ; 
Give him of power to over-master 
Monarchy of all disaster 
To outcompass his belt of earth 
For soul and for all soul is worth ; 
Give him his chance to undo fate 
By strugglement, to shape his gait 
By conquest of all evil state 
To sovereignty unlorded great; 
Give him knowledge to unknow 
Your goshawk-wisdom, power to show 
His self-side, his great gait to go, 
Man his own man, if or no. 

Give him of all power which swings 

The soul of things. 

Fearnought he, love-all he. 

Power for soul-supremacy, 

He his own subject, not yours, 

By the Self he stores. 

He of a lung which is free 

To hurl his truth at sovereignty 

Other than his sovereign self. 

Go his own great gait to go, 

Man his own God, if or no. 

This is such pleasant day. 

The sun blinks overhead. 

Blinks diamond light, corundum red, 

Lets the two cross-colors play 

While I play prisoner, I play dead. 



ii64 Longings of an Acolyte 

Such is the pleasant day 

Tortoise-flower is in dress, 

Bull-spink knows what notes to play 

To tell the wind his loveHness, 

While she, my one faded flower 

Crushed in your condor-claws, shall cower, 

Shall die away to tell your power 

How to subterhuman it grew. 

Points the porbeagle beast in you. 

Oh, to be again together. 

Girl and boy as that time when 

We swallowed sun-farm weather 

Out of reach of Gods and men, 

Sang like swallows in the leaves, 

Buttoned heart to heart, so saw 

Only love to ripen for. 

Only what spirit achieves. 

Scooped the tall grass between fingers 

— How life goes, love lingers — 

Watched our shadows in the glass 

The lake holds to not let us pass 

Where we walked while there we talked 

So never once one chogset balked — 

There I articled my first truth. 

Which is love, which evermore is love — 

Love is priest and power enough ! 

Oh, to be together again, 
Our cottage sitting in the rye. 
Cheek up to the tickling rain. 
Cheek to cheek, just she and I 
For any joy, any pain 
Good could come of, life to do 



Longings of an Acolyte 1165 

Masterfully fearless true, 

Cloud to-day, sun to-morrow, 

Payment of what life we borrow 

In full and in joy and in power 

To match and master any hour 

Of brutishness with teeth in it, 

We to king and ring and breathe in it. 

Oh, to be together again. 

Pull dye-root, plow the plain. 

Have a way and a face 

And a play and a grace 

Of our own, and at least 

Never pest of a priest 

— How surpassingly out of place 

You and your good gridiron face! — 

Just our love to be kind, 

Just our love to be great. 

Just our love to be blind 

To you and your pompous prate 

And altar-dance, your tricky state, 

Your keen gut to dominate 

So I drink your poison theme. 

So I drop my kingdom-dream, 

I the subject, you supreme ! 

Winds may bugle, pretty winds, 
Bird-wing broaden as it thins; 
Snappy tirade of the storm 
Blubh the lily, give it form ; 
Just his power to sally high 
Lengthen power in the eagle's eye; 
Bright oat-fields may wave, may laugh, 
Toss tassels, toss idle chaff, 



1 1 66 ■ Longings of an Acolyte 

Yet I shall nevermore be there 

For quaff of it, swallow my share, 

Suck the unencumbered air; 

Never shall I paddle among leaves, 

Dibble where the water-crow weaves, 

My love in hand when for her 

Moon-winds wait — how they defer. 

Hold their breath, refuse to stir 

Once there comes one step of her! — 

What counts it all to me now, 

Bush-fruit, clean eagle-bough, 

Or any thought or any how. 

And I but pooh-bird in my pen. 

All the old chaff over again. 

Back in the clutches of Gods and men? 



THE NIGHT OF THE BIG WIND 

Ireland 

Shock in the window shutter, 
Tub in the gutter 
With the wind, 
Oh what a wind, 
And the lightning, 
Dry as drouth, 
Stabbing-tricks, 
A fork of Hcks 
Like a serpent's mouth — 
Trees for brutes. 
Legs of the stork 
Pick up their roots. 
Stalk and balk — 
All a lead sky 
Of the haggard eye, 
Breath in it, 
Death in it. 
Hungry knife 
To swallow life — 
Tyrant gust 
Grinds his chop, 
Mountain dust 
Takes leap to flop 
Like cinders thrust 
1 167 



ii68 The Night of the Big Wind 

From a cannon's crop — 

Earth strikes out, 

Sky strikes under, 

Fling and pout 

And croon of thunder. 

Tornado-shout, 

Bawling wonder — 

Clouds are in rings 

To chain the sky. 

Terrors are kings, 

Soul is shy 

When the devil sings 

And the hell is high — 

Wanton folly 

Jumps to take 

Swamp or holly. 

Rouse the lake, 

Bend the brushes, 

Fright the spink. 

Call the thrushes 

Down to shrink — 

Ground-hog huddles 

In his cell. 

Mouths and muddles 

"All is well" — 

Wolves are cowed, 

Whelps are beaten. 

Pastures plowed 

And chewed and eaten — 

Dogs in the wind 

Like feathers sent 

To be slued and pinned 

In the firmament — 

Shanties on wing 



The Night of the Big Wind 1169 

To plow the sky, 
Chaos for king 
For bellowing 
In bog and rye — 
Moon-chat borne 
Where his wing is shorn, 
Throat is torn — 
Bell-buoy gong 
Subdued in song 
And the note is long — 
And then the rain 
Like drops of thought 
That hell is vain 
To bring to nought 
All the plummy grain. 
All the raisin-plot 
Which will fruit again 
In spite of power 
Which whips the plain, 
Snaffles the flower, 
Breaks earth in vain 
To stop an hour 
Of the flower-power 
To yellow again. 

Belle Ella and I are there too — she is my wild-flower out of my 
field — the huge storm makes targets of us two — think you 
we are there to yield, to play pigwidgeon, play trembling 
flower, fall to worshiping the storm for its power? — one thing 
is true, and true enough, we are there to yield to love, our 
God-greatened power and the whole of it, rain and flame, 
body and soul of it to a purpose and an end of doubt, to shut 
the crush of the wind-whip out. Are we posted behind an 
oak only to dodge the leven-stroke, dodge what the flood- 



1 170 The Night of the Big Wind 

winds pelt and soak? Do we think of our hide, of how the 
fire-fork pricked and shied, not of our heart with its fire inside? 
How the winds may pinch and shriek we mind not — they die 
down in a week — any riot in a cloud ceases, the great star- 
clusters crowd, halt overhead, look clean and proud — we too 
halt overhead in thought, we follow on in bosom, while how 
the wind sweats matters not, nor how its tone is pompous- 
gruesome — we live inside, heart inside, power of will inside — 
outwardness has changed and died, but what of this soul 
inside, soul which never moth may fret, soul which never storm 
shall wet, soul which histories do not forget? What of a 
heaven of fillibuster, what of any cuff or bluster of any wind? 
— soul has been broadened, never thinned, while we two in 
our hearts are one to fight the peerless omnipotent sun, to 
beat down what is outside, make a kingdom of soul to bride 
new regions where scope is wide because we are unravelled, 
untied — storm against storm, while without a doubt our 
hearts bar the tigerish typhoon out. 



MY ROSE 

My ripe rose in her hair! 

The twice I looked I saw it there 
In a satin nest and satisfied air, 

My South Sea rose tilted oblique, 
Face part hid, as if in pique. 

Like a young moon caught in the quartered cheek. 

Hark for a word with you. 

My truant rose, and you stick there true 
To her who is false in thought and thew ! 

I snuggled you there in your ivy nest 
To take my message, do your best 

To make my whole heart manifest. 

Last night just at her side. 

Just as the moon stood bloodroot-dyed 
By a cloud which opened its veins and died, 

I fastened you by my trick of care 
In the corner temple of her hair 

To plead for me with your pheasant stare. 

This lock of moss in turn 

Gave she me with such concern, 
Her invitation to return 

And claim her, I would think, when she said: 
Come again soon as a day is dead 

And the moon in heaven makes a day instead. 
1171 



1 1 72 My Rose 

The next night so am I 

Come again where the moonbeams fly- 
Between the leaves in her vine of Ay — 

I count the leaves, I count to see 
If she is true as love must be 

To hold my soul by the love in me. 

I count my leaves again, 

I make the number each time ten : 
"She loves me, she loves me not," and then 

Always there 's the last zero-spot 
Always to say she loves me not 

As ten times ten in the end is nought. 

Straight through her lattice-bush 

Her whisper creeps — I hark and hush 

And wonder at it : Could the thrush 

Have caught her tone of tune, the while 

I listen, nor I see the guile, 

I think my thrush there all the while, 

When, now behind the screen 

My falsetto-girl is seen, 
Only her bush of lilac between 

My rival and me — there she keeps 
Her lips alive as the pewee cheeps. 

Snares him too by her twinkle-peeps. 

Never my rival knows 

But she is his, such truth she shows 
Her way her light soul tricks and glows 

To hand him my flower out of her hair, 
My rose for her keeping I nestled there — 

And now he has it, let him beware ! 



My Rose 1173 

For next he looks between 

The cross-ribs of her lilac-screen 
And I am there to be pinned and seen 

Who came to keep my word so soon, 
As flies the moon-lark towards his moon 

To spill his heart in his April tune. 

True is all trick uncouth, 

Nor aught so fine as the heart of youth 
Playing at only the trick of truth, 

For now he is up in arms. 
Love is only an army of harms, 

While what of her pill-peppered shawl of charms 

Now he may see inside 

Where devils many try to hide? 
"Oh, love is deep and the world is wide. 

And fish as good as was ever caught ! 
Nothing of nothing is mostly wrought, 

And I 'm to be hoodwinked an atom not, " 

As through the gate he 's off. 

Scarce a thought his hat to doff, 
Only the little choking cough 

To mind her his love has been choked. 
Her underhandedness uncloaked. 

And truth and trick are not to be yoked. 

Right as he goes to quit. 

Disgust and torment in him knit. 
Lets the Furies hiss and spit. 

Flings he my flower across the path 
By all the fury which he hath 

To show her his basketful of wrath. 



1 1 74 My Rose 

My rose I pluck again, 

One leaf I pluck out of it, then 
I call him back: "We are brother-men. 

We played our hearts and you think we lost 
For this, because our hearts were crossed, 

And you see only one side — the cost ! 

"Take you this leaf to you, 

This rose-leaf out of my rose, and too 
See that you keep it your wide life through ; 

Forever to you 't is a lip to tell 
There 's more in the soul than Heaven or Hell, 

To wit, the triumph of doing well. " 

Then — my hand to him — then : 

"We 're brother-breathers, brother-men; 

We 've been fooled again and again, 

Did you think? But see how Right has schooled, 

How only Law and Law have ruled, 

How only the fooler has been fooled : 

" For we are arm in arm. 

Our moping maid has lost her charm 
Like a cloud if the sun remove his palm. — 

She will learn — life is a day 
To learn to take the higher way 

Than cockle-shell sham, cat-paw play. " 

So are you left to me, 

My rose — you hold pink in fee. 
And thought, for you give thought to me, 

This thought : She learned, as years went by, 
Only one way is to do and die. 

The way the Gods know — Arcturus-high ! 



FOR A SIGN 

PuccooN to be seen, 

Knotted drops of green 

Through his vest, 

And, between, 

Filigree at its best. 

And, beside. 

He wore purple for his hide, 

And again 

He could imitate the grain 

By a little yellow vein 

In his cuff, 

Breadth of buff, 

Cochineal enough 

Would swamp the thing he said 

In boisterous red. 

Such a taste 
About the waist 
As taste entails, 
And, then, 

Such his flock of fingernails. 
Each one like a perfect pen 
As if it meant to write, 
Never penny-thought in sight — 
Head so straight 
As a chapel-gate 
1 175 



1 176 For a Sign 



To point him great, 

And, too. 

Much too straight to look to you — 

Silk in the collar. 

His last dollar 

For pins and puff 

To hide the rough, 

Knee-boots to let you know 

The up and go 

And power of show. 

Shin-shape for the round and climb 

Of fashion women think sublime, 

He the high pride of pudding- time! 

Monday is the morning 

He goes adorning 

Pelt and thew. 

Not once to be new, 

Not to put the bow-tie true. 

But apes the hang 

Or fiddle-twang 

Or Pelopid in you! 

There 's his gown 

Of astrakan. 

His cheek of down 

To mark him man. 

And so 

Straight as the string of a bow 

He straightens to show 

How straight he can go; 

High as the top of his hat 

He is aiming at ; 

Fine as the fin of his boot 

His hop is and cute, 



For a Sign 1177 



And so 

I sec him reel and blow, 
Bauble to fashion-fetch 
His pinch and stretch 
To look heighty, 
Show mighty. 

This is the shop 
He is to pass, 
Yet must he stop 
At the window-glass 
To look in to see 
What a window has 
For opals in glee, 
For a thumb of gold 
To sprint in his chain. 
Match the Sappho-fold, 
Catch the yellow vein. 

This is the shop 
He cannot pass; 
Here is his stop 
At the window-glass, 
While all he will see 
Is himself to pas. 
His image for repartee 
For much as to say : 
" You may look in here 
Any look, any way. 
Yet one point is clear, 
I am come to stay 
Just to look to you, 
To hold to you too — 
I am yourself, 
Rib-arc and elf 



1178 For a Sign 

All over again, 

I 've the puccoon and sheen, 

I Ve the empty chain 

And filigree-green, 

Nor more is nor less 

Than yourself to be seen 

In this window-press. " 

That still is he balked 

By the picture in check. 

Which is blued and chalked 

Like a pigeon's neck. 

He may not look else 

Than straight where he looks 

At his yellowish gelts, 

Nor he sees in the shop 

Where the hang-bird hooks 

Or the hat-birds drop, 

Where chestnut widgeon 

Prods silver pigeon. 

Nor sees he aught he would share 

Save just himself in the window there. 

In the shop inside 
Is my lady, too. 
To the counter tied 
By the hats in view 
Modelled Easter-new, 
By the ribbon-make 
Of a waist in lake. 
By the toupee-bloom 
Of an eagle's plume. 
While there outside 
Stands he statue-still, 



For a Sign 1179 

This man like pride 

In his windowsill, 

Whom she thinks she knows 

By his label of rose, 

By his elbow-bows, 

Buttons in his coat to prize 

For wider, wiser than his eyes. 

Yet she takes him for a sign, 
Shop-sign in a window put, 
Keeps he so his plump in line. 
Never ever stirs a foot 
For looking so in the glass 
To catch his image, while alas 
His image will not let him pass — 
Sees a man but himself, 't is so 
He shall neither see nor go! 

Here 's the shop-lord, he will know, 
Him she will ask : 
"Yonder wooden elbow-bow 
Looking in the window so, 
What a marvellous mask ! 
So much like my man is he, 
Him who keeps his heart for me, 
I must think of him as such. 
Just my man to see and touch ; 
Wonder is it art could shape 
Likeness such in chin and nape; 
Copy his lip, my man's lip, 
Sunshine-eye, fashion-hip, 
Nor one peevish wrinkle skip 
He carries in his upper brow — 
How could art have done it — how?" 



ii8o For a Sign 

"Never art, only nature 

Made the creature; 

Nor is he a sign 

Made of paint and pine, 

Nor yet is he mine ! 

So looks it, as you say, 

He must be yours, your clay, 

Your confounded popinjay 

For you, and yet for a sign 

For you that you draw the line 

Between the chalk in his cheek 

And the soul there to speak; 

Between the lip which he has 

And his lip in the glass 

Which could tell 

Love as quick and as well ; 

Between the light in his eye 

And the glass-light by; 

Between the dumb breath at his mouth 

And the wind sailing south — 

Draw the line, if you can, 

'Twixt the sign and the man 

And you have it — you have him glued 

To himself, cheek and mood. 

Glued to his print in the glass 

For the likeness it has. 

Glued to himself like a knot 

In a tree, and forgot 

Is the world 'round about, 

I and you counted out. 

You and your love and your hold, 

I and my shop and his gold. 



For a Sign 1181 

" Let him stand for a sign, 

He shall be mine ! 

Look how the people will stop, 

Pour into my shop 

And they see him just there 

With his stare 

Of unbottled surprise 

Looking scholarly wise, 

Looking in so to see 

Philomel, filigree, 

Anything my window shows, 

Sample buckles, ample rose, 

Pin-garnets, and they think he sees 

My trinkets and their trick to please, 

Never any little inkling 

All his eyes at himself are twinkling. 

"Take him for a sign, you too. 

For he is for you 

For a sign that you halt. 

Shun a man for such fault, 

Leave him there, snug in his shelf, 

All his eyes on himself. 

"Only himself he may see, so 
Never he sees you or me, so 
Leave him to his seeing — so!" 



THE STARS 

Step the stars among, 
Hide-and-seeking throng ; 
How they weep to laugh 
As we cradle chaff! 
How they laugh ! 

In and out of sight, 
Sprinkled over night. 
How they laugh to weep 
As we shun the deep ! 
How they weep ! 

Not a breathless word 
From the void is heard; 
Not a look nor sound 
From the vast around, 
Not a sound. 

Do they heed us not? 
Are we quite forgot 
Where their thundering globes 
Coil in clustered lobes. 
Flaming robes? 

Do they know us not 
In this lonely spot? 
1182 



The Stars 1183 

Can they pass us by 

As they hear us cry, 

See us die? 

Only true and fair 
On the stillest air 
Is the sign they make 
To a heart they wake, 
Woo and take. 

Is mere human speech 
All the planets preach ? 
Is this "yes" and "no" 
All the spaces sow, 
All they grow? 

From Orion's rings 
To the least of things 
Tongues are on the air, 
Speech is everywhere. 
True and fair. 

Tell me, perfect star 
In your solemn far. 
Burning green to white, 
Burning low to light. 
Day and night. 

Surely thou must be 
The other half of me ; 
What art thou apart 
From my spirit's art, 
From the heart? 

Not another star 
Whether near or far 



1 1 84 The Stars 

Canst thou find or flee ; 
Thou canst call but me, 
Only me. 

There in the still deep 
Where pounding breakers leap 
From the savage air, 
From a sea of care, 
Thou art there ! 

Out of a wild sky 
Whose winged planets fly 
Up to thrones of space 
Not a heart can face. 
Lose or trace, 

Into my dull sea 
Plunges the soul of thee, 
Phantom- wing of light, 
To load a sea of night 
Full of sight. 

Gold finger of the sea 
Point me eternity! 
Show me but a day, 
But a single ray 
Not of clay; 

I will follow on 
When my day is gone; 
I will find a way 
By your single ray 
Through the clay. 

What a world is this 
Where we slip amiss 



The Stars 1185 

With a million spheres 
Flashing through our tears, 
Frowns and fears ! 

How their ropes of light 
Like ladders up the night 
Bid me rise to rise 
In heaven's lidless eyes, 
Nightless skies! 

In a single breath 
Is the voice of death; 
In a moment's run 
Is a clouded sun 
All undone; 

But a breath of thee 
Is of eternity; 
Of some finer shore 
Where life's longings soar 
More and more. 

Hide thyself in me, 
Star of my infancy; 
And when life drops low 
In its ebb and flow. 
Dark and glow, 

Softly skimmer through 
Evening's darkest dew; 
Brush the tears away 
In a dash of day, 
Happy day! 



ELMBANK 

This river how quiet 

As the overlording sky — 

The river — how I stood by it 

As boy here those wonder-days gone by 

To get the bank-sweet and Swaar-apple dye, 

A boy lost in the growing, 

A boy still for not knowing 

Soul stays while man is gone or going! 

Each elm is in place, 

Each one I knew by name. 

Each bore a popular grace, 

Unusual frame 

Of self-sufficiency 

With no deficiency 

In roundabout elegant mien 

Of its own unworldly swing and green. 

By the river bank was a place to be going, 
I to be reaping, August sowing 
Wonders of heaven beyond all knowing. 

She too was here then, 
Gentlest Ellen Meriden; -, 
Not a turn of any weather 
But found us hand in hand, and whether 
Things turned well or evil then. 
There were we heart and heart together. 
1186 



Elmbank 1187 

Twenty years now flown away, 

And what now to say 

Have twenty years to me this day 

Save all around 

In sky or ground 

All is utterly the same 

As then when only concord came 

And we thought life just a gaining game. 

By the mere chance, do you think, 

We are together again, 

Gentle Ellen and I as then, 

Here once more by the Elmbank brink 

Of this our Deerfoot river 

Which leaps so, making misstep never, 

We here by only chance. 

Just haphazard circumstance 

After so long ago 

We parted in youth, came to know 

World-bubbles how they snap and go ? 

Chance only, did you say, 

Brought us here this day ? 

Clicks there the Law of atomic rock 

Puts the atoms under lock. 

Yet never Law for these hearts 

Holds them back while Hfe departs ? 

For here is aught worth thinking of : 

A day is done, life is enough. 

But who is there comes to an end of love ? 

Together we in this bank of elms — 
Such August-hour overwhelms 
With Aphrodite butterfly. 
Scent of lily-laden sky. 



1 1 88 Elmbank 

Spiral eagles in the wind, 
Blossoms to their fingers pinned — 
And we talk over old times, 
Catch the cattle-bells in chimes, 
Cricket cricketing his rhymes. 

We talk over old times, 

Dear Ellen and I; 

We talk of how spirit climbs 

While men wilt and die; 

How thought leaps beyond the ken 

Or temple-place of men ; 

Soul in touch with what is beyond. 

Death a day and way to unbond, 

And I say: "You were young 
In those young other days. 
Lights in your eyes were hung, 
Lutes were your lips for lays. 
Each word galloped and sung 
Till birds in the air sang praise 
At the way you carolled among 
The flowers in those days. 

"The world goes by. 
So many years 
Leave signs of each sigh. 
Signs of bleaching tears, 
So you may not hide 
The angles and arcs 
And thought beside 
With ruts for marks 
Which I see in your cheek. 
Which I know in your brow 



Elmbank ii^9 

Of volumes to speak 
If the heart knew how. 

"This world has its own way, 
Gets the most out of youth, 
Ambulant power, amputant truth, 
Heart-laugh, dimple-play, 
Symmetry in cheek and hand. 
Beauty gifted to command. 
Spirit gifted to equip — 
Youth is king in the lip. 

"How I remember 

Our one September 

In such long ago. 

You the Princess of Youth, nor ember 

Captured ever such keen glow 

As you held in the brow and lip. 

Just as you held my heart that day — 

How could we think such years must slip, 

We to go each by a separate way ? 

"This is the Elmbank brook, 

Here just we parted then. 

Nor word of you since, nor look 

Save what I kept in ken 

Of your last word, meant to last 

'Though this life be overpast. 

While now I see you as you were then, 

My one flower in this Ulmus-glen, 

Handsomest Ellen Meriden ! 

"But here is the world to say 
You were young in that day; 



II90 Elmbank 

Here is the world with its truth : 
Man shall fasten to youth; 
Age is a lip with a pout 
Because Hfe is blown out, 
Life is a lip with an age 
Like a thumb-dotted page, 
So I must take kindly to youth 
For the way and the truth, 

"'Am I to listen to this, 

I must have such lips to kiss 

As were yours that evergreen day 

Your dimples made play, 

Your heart kept in tune 

Like a pinon-jay 

In his lap of noon. 

"Am I to love you now, 

This is the world's receipt: 

You shall be new in brow, 

Hand and the eye complete, 

Your face like a flower 

Of such satin power 

As I plucked for you in my garden-hour. 

"All which is young and bright 

Captures heart and soul ; 

Age is a touch of night, 

Is a yellowing jole. 

So the world says 

And you mind what they say, 

Mind their no and yes, 

Mind their pigeon-play 

At truth — this is a world to live in. 



Elmbank 1191 

Never a world to 'but' or 'if in, 

Man meant only to knuckle and give in ! 

" Did you think just your love 

Made purpose enough, 

Could hide ruts, hide scars, 

Hide the crow's-foot that mars, 

Could count an atom, count aught 

After life is an afterthought 

And the two round eyes count only nought? 

"Only the oldened face 
Is left to you now; 
That brooch looks out of place 
As the smile, somehow. 
With neither dot nor trace 
Of the young bright brow. 
Of that keen careless care 
About the temples, girlhood hair 
In frolic and tempestuous fair. 

"So my wise world says! 

What shall I do less 

Than I follow on 

Quite the way the world has gone, 

Value you for the pink you leak 

In the ear and cheek. 

Wild side-looks of your young eyes 

With their iris dyes. 

Or your new sweet-rocket throat 

At its bobolink note. 

And I look, and you are no more there 

As once, your young triumphant air 

As once, so surpassing fair? 



1 192 Elmbank 

" My world has passed you by, 
The world thunders on and on, 
While for aught I try to spy 
You are as good as gone 
By lack of flame in the eye. 
By want of plump in the lip — 
Left to you now is only your sigh 
That you let the sweet world slip. 

"There 's the way I must speak, 
Do I think that way too, 
Do I love chin and cheek. 
Take the eye for its blue, 
Hold to your holding hand 
For more than tablet of sand. 
Count red in the rounded lip 
More than this Weigelia-slip 
Dying soon as the east winds nip. 

"Sweet in the rose is such 
I may not see nor touch; 
Life in the rose is what 
Outleaps my leap of thought; 
Beauty too is in place. 
Keeps its hand and face 
Of most masterful grace, 
Yet Beauty is such 
As I may not clutch 
Nor taste of nor touch. 
Nor carry about and apart 
Save here in my heart. 

"For here is your rose you gave, 
One wild rose, the which you caught, 



Elmbank 1193 

One rose leaning over its grave, 
The one you pulled and brought 
To hand to me that ox-eyed day 
We parted — what different ways 
We took, what blame or praise. 
Bafflement, battle-days. 
Yet here is my rose — see how 
Only wrinkles make the brow, 
Only a spoon of dust is now ! 

"Counts it the less to me 
Now no pink is in sight. 
Nor a shape to see 
Nor a quaff of light, 
All the smoothe lip gone 
And the ruffled puff 
Once I doted on 
And counted enough 
Just before I knew 
There is more in sight 
Than the corn-flower hue 
Or the pink delight ? 

" If I may not forget 
What this rose means to me, 
Once with its carcanet 
Of silver dew making free 
With starlight, and now gone, 
Now only dust to dote upon. 
How more do I look to you. 
True Ellen! Hearts are true 
Right in spite of what time may do 
To wither and thither me or you ! 



1194 Elmbank 

"Soul is a thing to outlast 
Any future, every past; 
Makes more of what is unseen 
Than arm-angle, crocodile green; 
Peeks high, forgets nothing 
Worth while, worth worthing; 
Values highest what is best 
Over above the rosiest, 
So clings to eternal Law 
Of Beauty worth effort for. 
Of which my love is part 
And I find you so in my heart 

"As you were then 

In those young other days 

In this grass-corner when 

We parted our ways — 

So much has been wrought. 

So much is gone undone 

Since this your rose you caught 

At its bath in the sun ! 

"Count the wrinkles for aught ?- 
Count spots in the sun. 
You remember them not 
In such light, nor a spot 
But is drowned in the run 
Of such sheen, of such grace 
Of warm light in the face 

"As is yours — there I only see 
Soul in you — what to me 
Count wrinkles, plenitude-years 
Making harvests of tears 



Elmbank 1195 



To burn chinks in the cheek? — 
They are lips meant to speak 
Of heart which has grown 
While fly-days have flown, 
Of soul which largens the more 
Wrinkles come to the fore, 
While so I look only to you 
That are lovemost, are true ; 
Other Beauty I see in you 
Outglistens glistening eyes. 
Spirit which is more than wise — 
Love looks higher than the skies. 

"The sea in the wind is tOvSt, 
The wind in the sea is lost — 
Love goes and yet stays 
Like the freshet of days. 
As here once more we stand 
By the brook-road, hand in hand 
As one, as much one as ever, 
Two for one and forever. " 



PEACHAM PASTURE 



You think it a soreful life? 

Never that, my friend I 

Value is in strife, 

Life a means to an end 

Where all is infinite, 

So I see in it 

Always a means to a means 

Beyond any dance 

Of circumstance. 

As yonder mountain careens. 

Over it the moonlight leans, 

Over beyond the Dog Star greens. 

II 

Go I this way, that way, 
And you think it nought 
If I watch a chat play 
In my apple plot, 
Or I pull a Bellis 
Out of the ground. 
While truth to tell is 
This truth I found : 
Any one way to go, 
1196 



Peacham Pasture 1197 

Any small thing to do 

Shall count more than I know 

At last to me or to you, 

Seeing each means to an end, 

And I see no end at all. 

And the great on the small depend, 

So I see this truth — there is no small. 

Ill 

This for the nature of things, 

Nature's nature — so 

I see how order clings 

To order, and if or no 

My world seem to go wrong, 

If I have lost my friend, 

If opposing force be strong. 

If chaos look like the end. 

For this truth comes to my call: 

If I suspect I see 

Disorder in sublimity, 

I know I do not see at all, 

IV 

Did you think blundering chance 

Took a hand in the game 

Of infinite circumstance 

Which poises flame 

In the zenith ether, 

Puts always a star 

Beyond a star, 

Man the sun-bom breather 

Of Heaven to sleep, to dream, 

To wake to one day find 



1 198 Peacham Pasture 

Things are soulfuller than they seem, 
Man is vaster than he divined? 



For now I lean at her gate — 

See how the truth holds true 

There 's neither small nor great 

Outside the soul in you — 

Now the night hour is late, 

One star poses, points 

Where I so lean at her gate 

Just as the moon anoints 

The waves in her bronzen hair — 

Thus the night is on 

And the world is gone, 

Yet I and my Philomel are there. 

VI 

She takes me so to task 
For the one thing I ask. 
Her heart, her all there is 
Of soul's stupendous mysteries 
Of unworldly thought : 
I 'm too cold, she thinks, 
I make my way by force 
Of knowledgeable kinks. 
While so, for matter of course, 
I play my understudy part, 
I make love by rules of art, 
I lack genius of the heart ! 

VII 

And this because I keep 
My heart so out of sight 



Peacham Pasture 1199 

She thinks there 's nought to reap 
In me save my love of Right, 
As if a man may show 
His heart as a nickel flips, 
And there the consuming glow 
Burns the words on his lips! 

VIII 

So I have to say not much ; 

I waste my soul in sighs; 

The wide moon adds not a touch 

Of Heaven to her widened eyes 

As plump in the pasture is seen 

My rival — he comes our way, 

As plain it is he has been 

To hunt the plover, to slay 

The cyprus-bird in his song, 

Pick his throat out, make play 

Of slaughter, nor he counts the wrong. 

IX 

Comes the straight man so proud 
As a militant chief. 
Boasts his crack shot, is loud 
In his pompous belief 
He can kill at first sight 
By his magic of might; 
Boasts he took him on the wing 
In between his ballading; 
Then turns to my Philomel 
As if to his one matross, 
Harkens for the tenor-bell 
Could ring in her applause. 



I200 Peacham Pasture 

Looks for delight to rise 

To dance to pieces in her eyes. 



Is he not whittled in limb 

Fine as a fawn could be, 

The strong clean eye in him, 

Head up in supremacy 

Of tall carriage, popular power, 

Fortune sticking to his hour. 

And what will she do, 

Will she praise him so high 

For the shot he threw. 

For the sigh he drew 

From singing lintie about to die ? 



XI 



He so tall and so fine 

As a star will shine ; 

I otherwise, never made 

To conquer by big brigade 

Of circumstantial dash, 

My heart cornered in my sash, 

So he will take her eye. 

And then he will take her soul. 

While I am left to my sigh, 

I play subordinate role 

Because I have only to say, 

In my undervalued way, 

"I could not kill the beautiful bird 

Fine as Heaven, for Heaven is heard 

Again and again in his bugle- word. 



Peacham Pasture 1201 

XII 

"Little pretty amber bird 

In his violet fire, 

Nevermore shall he be heard 

To lead his April choir 

Of a soft morning — he hangs 

Pinned in the huntsman's belt, 

Past and gone are his pangs, 

Gone the one frenzy he felt 

Once he straightened and knelt 

To give me his magic note 

All the world could never quote — 

Now not a breath in store, 

Opal feathers to drop his gore, 

And the pith of sweetness is no more." 



Right as I say this much 

She drops his cardinal quamoclit 

He gave her, as if the touch 

Smuggled blood and death in it; 

Drops her brow, avoids his look 

As if it wore the huntsman's hook, 

Turns to me, gives me her eyes 

With their new wonderful surprise 

Like blue looks out of exalted skies — 

Now we both understand. 

She comes my way, takes my hand. 

Gives me her one look so true 

To say: I now see clearly too, 

I now see you through and through. 

For now I see your heart in you. 



I202 Peacham Pasture 

XIV 

Just a little bird, 

Half a tiny word 

And the thing is done: 

Cruelty is on the run, 

I have captured her heart — 

So the jewel-flower is won 

To cling and finger in the sun 

Just by my mastersport 

Of soulfulness with not an art, 

To show, as I say, above all 

'Round about the worlds I see 

Is only magnanimity, 

Is one vast truth — there is no small. 



EWIGZEITGEIST 



Summer is up and gone, 
Toughened Fall is on, 
Yet what care I? — I know truth. 
Fall is another kind of youth ; 
Fields will be snow-blown soon, 
Winds white-eyed — I know the festoon 
Of dead muscatel, what it means 
By the way it looks and leans 
Blown out — so likewise I know 
Naked branches of the trees 
Are the bones of summer — so 
I know this cold whistling breeze 
Teaches the dead leaves to sneeze 
In the underbrush — what care I, 
Seeing I know my own truth. 
Life is one perfect way to die. 
So death means more than life, than I, 
So Fall is another kind of youth. 

What soul goes gifted to forget 
Swinging box of mignonette. 
Swinging wind in the blind 
Of his boy-home he put behind? 
Do I forget how it was, 
How my towhee would pue 
1203 



I204 Ewigzeitgeist 



In between hawks and daws? 

Is my young life performed, perdue? 

For look, I am back here now, 

Look how I know this place 

Of the overlording brow 

Of Lantern Hill, crow-flocks in chase 

Of breath-weather, this morning to make 

Bees whistle, corn-tassels shake, 

And I am back at it and so full 

As once I was here as boy, 

Overloaded with country joy — 

But now I have too this sore 

To think such days will come no more, 

The while I 'm full as then I was 

Of joy to watch the eagle pause 

In his spotted heaven — yet I 

Wear more soul than as boy before, 

For now I draw my down-deep sigh 

Thinking those days will come no more. 

As boy I stood so satisfied 
If a day came, if a day died. 
So my half -heart never sighed. 
Now I have such wonderful past 
To look to, I look aghast 
To find what trinkets I saw 
Worth while, worth my weeping for, 
Grown small as capers of a mouse, 
My guinea-grass, jumble-bird house 
Or what not, as I saw things then 
Leap wider than the eyes of men. 
And I have been man so long, 
Counted my gains among men, 
Considered me wise and strong. 



Ewigzeitgeist 1205 



Planted in my meridian, 

Yet now am I forced to confess 

Life is neither more nor less 

To me than that day it was 

I stopped to watch the eagle pause— 

This difference just : I as the boy 

Wearied lastly of each toy, 

So I shouted to be man, 

To make my way terranean 

To outrival men, to tower, 

Example unexampled power. 

While now as man I would be back 

At my nimble finger-knack 

Of so untwisting a flower 

As to make the most of it. 

Never to think of my power, 

Nor ever once to boast of it 

How I the child in the field 

Sat cuddled, while people came 

To kneel to me and to yield. 

To join me in my sun-god game, 

Go my way, yet knew not my name. 

Enough for them that they knew 

I was sun-laurelled — warm and true. 

Longed I as boy to be man; 

As man I long to be boy ; 

There 's this life at a span. 

There 's this world for a toy 

I play at, the while I grow 

More than congressments can show, 

For am I not vaster than the life 

I so completely surpass 



i2o6 Ewigzeitgeist 

By my strong love of strife, 
Of the back teeth which it has 
To grind me shaplier ? Lo, 
See how I come and I go 
Back and forth, how as man 
I would be the boy again. 
How as boy I leap to plan 
To fly to man's meridian — 
Back and forth so — there I shuttle 
Like the bee-fly in a bottle, 
To know, as the fly knows too, 
There 's the outside mightier view 
Of universes, captures us two. 

If both ends of life answer so small 

Once I come to question it all, 

The while I am here to know 

How, whether I go back to youth. 

Or youth to complete stature grow, 

I knock about between youth and man 

To find I hold the larger span. 

Am wider than the thing I see, 

I mingle with eternity 

To know of this: I am what 

I seize at, there can be nought 

Without me is worth the thought, 

Since, whatever shape I cake it. 

My life is the thing I make it 

To the dot's dottle — so I have this 

For extract, as my meaning is : 

I countenance my supreming soul, 

I outkingdom the reigning whole 

Of grig-life of hop and pelf, 

So I know I 'm the thing itself. 



Ewigzcitgeist 1207 



Ellen Belle Amber to-day, 

Beautiful Belle Ellen's way, 

Carols her thought like a robin's lay 

And I am waiting — I hark for her — 

So I hark if the roses stir, 

I take their steps for the steps of her. 

She is — could it matter where, 

So she drinks the maple air 

And her plentiful heart is everywhere ? 

I am wondering to know what a place 

The world would be without her face 

Of such unworldly wonderful grace. 

Down in his cajuput tree 

Larks the lark so loftily, 

His heart in touch with the heart in me, 

I know his lip of song to be one 

With spirit, for the note will run 

After his lip is untuned, is done, 

For comes the fine song in me 

As it came out of his tree 

To mould each wind into melody 

And I am here, or I may be there. 

And he has never a lip to spare, 

While the song he sang is everywhere. 

Counts he more than part of me. 

Once I gather up his glee 

So he is all I may hear or see ? 

There he clings like the primrose in bole, 

Yet through us both gallops unique soul, 

While what am I save the galloping whole ? 



i2o8 Ewigzeitgeist 

So my Belle Ellen is so 

I have her, careless if I go 

Or come, for here is a thing I know: 

Each ripe morning I hark for her 

In where the leaves of roses stir 

To know their lips are the lips of her, 

As I know soul is about 

In any tulip-joint or pout, 

Yet past catching, past finding out, 

So then I know the elfin is such 

As puts the disjointed world in touch, 

Never companion like it such. 

I am the snow-peak that shines. 
Am the tuft of jacobines ; 
I the one spirit which divines 
Crocodile green in a curlew's eye. 
Passwords if the tall winds sigh — 
What then are they unless I am I? 

More's in the twitch of a wink 
Than I brood at or you think 
Who overlook the interlink 
One atom is — will you doubt it, 
Knowing the songs of starlings shout it. 
Great Cosmos could not inch without it ? 

Goes and comes this soul in man 

As in any ortolan 

Mooning in sky Elysian 

To try to outgeneral worlds, to dot 

The heavens like one triumphant spot 

Of Beauty never to be forgot. 



Ewigzeitgeist 1209 

I hark for my rose again, 
Which dangles in bush and rain, 
To get the meaning — I get it plain, 
This: Just a whisper, one tiny stir 
The lip makes, and I cannot err, 
I know it for the whisper of her, 

My Belle Ellen — so she stays 

As the undiminished days, 

Carols her thought like the robin's lays 

Out of all soul, so truly I see. 

Which way soever the flesh may flee, 

She is my very soul in me. 



THE INDICTMENT 



Down underground, 

So too overhead, 
I 've the teeth of a hound, 

I 've the blue of the dead 
And the cold as well, 

I 've the humor of Hell 
To cudgel and slay, 

I 've the dog in me 
Of deformity, 

The dog and to have his day. 

II 

Red hands — blood red, 

For so it is 
The blood of the dead. 

And the crime is his 
And the hands are mine, 

And the fault is his 
And the knife and spine 

And butchery are mine and mine. 



Ill 



Up to the peak 

Of ugly thought 



The Indictment 1211 

I glutton my freak, 

I daub my blot 
Of blood in the cheek 

Of her girleen grace — 
So runs the streak 

Down her handsome face — 
In under the hair 

The eyes are there 
At their glassen stare — 



So runs the cripple, 

The demon in me, 
Shoulders put triple. 

Put niggardly, 
As, lo, my nowl 

To the breast is bent 
Just as my soul 

Is pinched and pent. 
Pity as thin 

As the spider's heart 
And his poison fin 

And his butcher's art. 



My rival he, 

Mastrous straight 
As majesty 

And smoothe as plate, 
Polish to new 

His lively look. 
Hair under glue, 

Collar to cook 



12 12 The Indictment 

So the end in view 
Be the end of you 

In a match of pleats 
And ribbon feats. 

VI 

He has his day 

Of love with her, 
And I must delay, 

I must not stir, 
But watch him take 

His cup of bliss, 
Behold him slake 

His thirst and kiss 
Her mouth and eyes 

And pigeonwise 
His love display 

Each day to day 
To make her his prize 

His champion way. 



The cripple I, 

By way of birth. 
Of my quarried eye, 

Of my crooked girth, 
I could never say 

"I love you too, 
I 've the dimple-play, 

Apollo-thew, 
I 've the iris guise. 

So give me your eyes 
For my picture-book 

And my hungry look ' 



The Indictment 1213 

For so I should see 

My look in there 
Of the hungry stare 

Of deformity. 



Like as the thought 

In me is so small 
As to question not 

But the girl is all 
My world to be got, 

And whether or not 
The kit I stew in 

Shall run me to ruin, 
So my heart is past 

In a single hour 
As the single flower 

In a winter blast, 
While all I see 

In my drunken whirl, 
For the life of me, 

Is my prize— the girl! 

IX 

There stands the Law 

Which made me so 
Of porbeagle jaw, 

Quohog toe: 
I get the thing 

From broods of men 
In the years before 

All reckoning ; 
Spring-time then 



12 14 The Indictment 

Of a world to grow, 
A beginning when 

Men thought to go 
This way askew, 

That way awry, 
To crush what is true, 

To hate what is high, 



So only sent 

Their soul askew 
From prosperment, 

From trueness too; 
Cultured what look 

The pit-viper has. 
Took his oily crook. 

His nasty mass, • 
And just by the Law 

Of progeny 
Handed their cloven claw 

To me. 
Handed their spilth 

Of villainy, 
Vileness and filth 

To me. 

XI 

This is the cellar-pit. 

This where she died, 

I here to tell of it. 
Tell how I lied 

By my trashy note, 
Tell how I tied 



The Indictment 12 15 

My thumbs in her throat: 

If I may not have her. 
So shall not he 

By his puff-palaver, 
His eaglery, 

His elegant pate 
Of Roman speech, 

All out of reach 
Of my muzzled gait. 



My thumbs in her throat. 

My teeth in her face. 
How I tore and I smote 

The blood from its place 
On the pillow of thought, 

Her thought of him 
In his lucky lot. 

In his fawnish limb — 
Her teeth I sowed 

In the cellar air 
Till the dark pit glowed. 

Mocked at her stare, 
Fingered and toed 

In her blood and hair — 

XIII 

"Take that," said I, 

"Take that and that, 

Learn you to die 

As the hounded rat. 

Learn you that I 

Am the horned bat 



i2i6 The Indictment 

To stifle, to kill, 

To full fulfill 
The beast in me. 

My savagery, 
My dragon spell. 

Learn you to see 
The fire in me 

Of all blazing Hell!" 

XIV 

Now you may have her, 

You of the pipe 
Of handsome palaver, 

Handsomer stripe — 
Have her so now, 

Take her to keep 
Of the broken brow 

And mended sleep; 
She will not waver 

Between us two. 
So you shall have her 

The eons through — 
Here 's luck to you 

And your pretty bride 
Whose look is new 

As the eyes are wide 
And all for you, ' 

All the death inside! 



But you of the past, 
Yours be the fault 



The Indictment 12 17 

Who gave me my ghast 

Of heinous halt! 
You drove your soul 

Awry, askew, 
Then gave me the whole 

Hell-hound in you 
For a legacy 

Of supremacy 
Of putrid thought, 

Of monsterly blot 
On my blasted lot! 

XVI 

Your way you took, 

Never thought of me 
In my ugly crook 

Of deformity 
To come after you 

By the straight descent, 
By the Law of true 

Equivalent : 
Be you your worst 

And the thing is curst; 
Be you your best 

And the thing is blest; 
Anyway strike, 

To weather, to lee, 
Like begets like 

Eternally. , 

XVII 

And the pith of it all 
That I am so small 



i2i8 The Indictment 

As the soiil in you 

From which I grew 
To a cloven claw 

Just to ripen for 
Murder by beast of heart 

To hate, to play my part 
Of vulture, crocodile art — 

And this her grave 
In the cellar air, 

I the plain knave 
To put her there 

For my devil's whim 
And my withered limb — 

And I so small 
Because you were so small, 

And, oh, the pity of it all! 



BATTLE 

To horse and to arms, 
To the gallop of feet, 
Hail to destruction of calms. 
Make you the killing of men complete — 
Wild-eyed dreaming to spill 
Blood — what a genius to kill! — 
To arms and to horse, 
Snaffle to snap the teeth of remorse, 
Sprinkle the planet with teeth, 
Never brother be left to breathe- 
To the banner in blue, 
To the hornet in you 
To right about face 
By level quick, ^ 

Make a landing-place 
For your killing-pick — 
On to the thickets 
Of men, to the pickets 
Of men, of snivelling slaves 
Drinking health in their graves — 
On to the clinch and they come 
To the lash of a drum 
To the spot, to Hell for a spot 
To bury all human-hearted thought — 
Now to the shoulder to draw 
Sword against great compassion-law 
1219 



I2 20 Battle 

And they spit to strike, 

Hand to hand, ^ 

Send the marlin-spike 

Through lung and gland 

The way the dead will understand — 

Fast to your clinch 

In a brother's throat 

Nor he yield an inch 

Till you spill his note 

As never tornado tore and smote— 

Pick in the eyes, 

Gouge greatness out, 

Blacken his skies 

Of noble doubt 

To make your feast of snarl and flout- 

Champion General, let him swing 

His axe, never shrug at the thing 

So his great glory pipe and ring — 

Pull at your mounted clarion. 

Pump the tunes out of pipes, 

Urge the devil in them on i 

For love of stars and stripes. 

Love of the stripes they feel, 

Love of the stars they see 

If you fetch them a wipe of your steel 

By the powers that be — 

For love of Cathedral God 

There leaps the field ablaze, 

Leaps the hungry sun in their blood — 

Short the breath of their days 

Now they tumble to scud 

To skirt the field of your bullet-flood 

For fingers to spare, 

Junkets of skulls 



Battle 122 1 

To crowd the air 

Like navies of gulls, 

Ankles and gullets to fly 

To shock all ample quiet sky 

To watch them swink and sink and die, 

And the thing is done 

And your freedom won — 

What count brothers dead and gone? 

Pale looks the moon aloft. 

Pale as they lie in the sand 

In the mix of her amber flood 

And they lie in their blanket of blood, 

Tenants of crop and croft 

To put out each wilted hand 

To motion farewell 

To you Hounds of Hell, 

Farewell to their pleasant land — 

No more for them the sun and the sand ! 

This to be Christian, 

This to be kind, > 

Such be your mission 

Of heart and mind 

To put your love of love behind. 

And you shall live to croon and boast 

You parted Body and God and Ghost. 

Here is battle — you may have it 
For the sumptuous glory of it 
To make way and make great. 
Make good your pompous bulls of state 
By all that is last and least in you. 
Hell and the wolf -wild beast in you! 



TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN 



Such a southernish afternoon, 

I in West Meadow Road, 
The road in show-shalloon 

Of thistles tilted a la mode, 
I of a mind to go 

Where goes the road, any way so 
I come to time to unlink 

From labor — my day to think. 
To unpocket, unmask, 

Catch a brook by the brink, 
A suckerel at his task 

Of poising to bowl or bask 
In his pumping river. 

Shooting like a fretted sliver, 
His life one delightful quiver. 



I take to the road ; 

I rather not know which way it goes; 
Behind me I leave my load 

Of thought — this south wind blows 
At nothing more than to peel 

My care off so I clip and reel 
As the wind does, this way or that, 

To swamp a flower, float a chat, 



To Whom It May Concern 1223 

Pull my breath in, let it go 

Just to let Creation know 
Breath may come, breath may go, 

But soul is come to stay, while so 
I am off to the river-arc 

Which paddles between sun and park 
To get the leap of counterspark. 



III 



What my thought is who shall say ? 

Thought that life is to-day 
To unearth unusual surprise 

To custom my widening eyes 
To see where uncounted planets play 

More than comes of being wise 
Or knowledgeable man. 

Knowledge to trick and pick and plan : 
Thought that I am meant to poke 

My neck in no kind of yoke, 
But go untanglefooted free 

To my complete supremacy. 

IV 

One God-bird at his fytte 

And I listen for it 
In this frescade of a tree. 

He head over head in glee 
To shout his soul out so for me 

And I listen — just ahead 
Another quality of note 

So much finer is trumpeted 
That never Hp could quote 



12 24 To Whom It May Concern 

The unimpeachable sound 
Tap to tap, as if the ground 

Dropped whispers which were heavenward-bound, 
But my way drifting, till I knew 

I was heavenward-drifted too. 



For now in the road before 

Comes such a maiden to see 
A man could not look for more 

Of Beauty in the galaxy 
Of uncomputed skies, 

Such unworldish worthfulness 
Planted in such violet eyes 

The capital sky looks nothingness 
Matched with such human prize 

As holds me to look so straight, 
The while she comes my way, 

There 's but to love and contemplate, 
There 's not to do, to say. 



Spirits talk — be sure of that — 

For, now she is passing by, 
There 's one thing we level at, 

Thought in the talking eye, 
As she so looks to me 

Out of such eyelash light, 
By Heaven there 's Heaven to see 

Just there in her leap of sight 
As now she catches my look, 

Reads the volume, drops the book 



To Whom It May Concern 1225 

Right as such longing flies 

To longing between our eyes, 
And so she passes on, 

And so my Heaven is come and gone. 

VII 

Did you think that about all 

Soul with wings could do, 
Fly to your beck and call 

Of worded lip, picture tattoo, 
While never an answer to what 

Lies behind this master-thought 
That I am to play my part 

Of lording and unlorded heart 
Beyond the atoms to go 

As thought is high. Earth is low ? 

VIII 

Sweet Lady, take this to your thinking 

If you be thinking of me: 
Stars go blinking-winking 

Their Hght of eternity; 
Sky to sky is buttoned so 

One sky spreads what sheet of glow 
Will fail us never, never go; 

Heaven to Heaven was buttoned so 
This day I saw you come and go 

I know the deepness of it plies 
Higher and lastinger than skies. 

IX 

Thought is ample, place is wide. 

Worlds go spinning beyond end; 



1226 To Whom It May Concern 

Has my friend, as you see it, died. 

Yet am I to have my friend, 
For friendship is a thing to endure, 

Else could there be no friendship sure 
Of being — love will depend 

On endlessness — do I lose my friend, 
Then counts love nothing in the end, 

While, look you through the romping air, 
There 's no "nothing" anywhere. 



Who shall know what is begun 

In one day under the sun? 
There was your faithful face, 

I under my lone tree. 
Yet not all time and place 

Shall steal your one look from me. 
Go where you will, who e'er you be. 

Read this you may on a time. 
My rough-ended tilt of rhyme, 

To know me somehow, some yet — 
Who is there ever may forget? 

Come when you will or where 
To find me, sure as April air 

Waits the blossom I '11 be there 
Waiting and waiting everywhere ! 



TWO NOTES OF A THRUSH 

Draw up the shade, dear, 
Night is pale as death ; 
This red bom mom hath drawn a breath 
Across my meadows in the clear. 

For life is near. 

Hearken to the thmsh ; 
His note is low, lisps 
Like autumn winds in naked w^sps. 
To second the mill-wheel's muffled gush 

Which whispers ' ' hush ! ' ' 

No breath of a sound ; 
The doctor came and went 
As one whose will must not relent 
'Though not a thread of hope be wound 

Above the ground. 

Mute all night he lay, 
As deaf to every word 
As if new other lips were heard ; 
Some matchless echo of a lay 

Far deeps away. 

How his faithful locks 
Like ivies cling to creep 
About the temple of his sleep 
At which the grum centurion knocks, 

Spits and mocks. 
1227 



12 28 Two Notes of a Thrush 

Lift his talking doll ; 
She does not look nor speak 
Sorrows of the wise and weak; 
It may be he will hear her call 

Above us all. 

How his life is fled 
With a handful of days, 
As all his steps and plays 
Broke but one willowed path which led 

Among the dead! 

In his small hour here 
He never knew of death: 
His was one gentlest morning breath 
Across my meadows in the clear, 

For life was near. 

Would we too had kept 
The true fine simple way 
Which bears apart from drowsy clay 
To where such feet as his have stept 

While worlds have slept. 

Soon shall we be free 
To take our journey too, 
One hard long way in search of you — 
How many wandering worlds ere we 

May come to thee! 

Soft, he wakes in sleep; 
Oh, see his closing eyes 
Like yon last stars in morning skies 
That sink away, yet watches keep 

Beyond the deep ! 



Two Notes of a Thrush 1229 

There, don't sorrow, dear, 
But hearken to the thrush; 
He swings his new note from the bush, 
His song of promise wild and clear. 

For death is near. 



TO MY FOREFATHERS 



Never were ye forgot, 

Not in the romp of unbridled time 

Which trod you under foot and under ground! 

Be my way this or that, 

My luck forward or backward bent, 

Days of bold brilliant fashion. 

Or blunted as winter math. 

Comes there this value to mark my thought, 

That, be the route what it may, 

Fat option or lean and hungry lot, 

Ye never were forgot. 



The raw globe for all it is 
Prowls about vaulted precipice 
Of fostrous skies, where not 
One atom goes begging for life, 
Where nothing is forgot. 
Ye are to me myself. 
Ye of whom I am come, 
Sinew and thought and elf. 
That I be not sunken dumb 
Where I stop to think of you 
In this sombre evening view, 
1230 



To My Forefathers 123 1 

This here where the field flowers brought 
Charm to you and peace of thought, 
Flowers I pull in the dusk for you, 
Rocket and forget-me-not, 
Which I lay here where you sleep 
Tucked in such wondrous dumb and deep. 

Ill 

Plow and corn-house hang about 
In dalmatics of red rust; 
Wait they their day to follow you 
To your empire of dust and dew. 
I make them my friends, and then 
I take them all thought to heart 
For the time when you too were men, 
So played your live unlorded part. 

IV 

Inseparable, you and I ; 

Make we not one in the main? 

I wear your shape of hand ; your eye 

Saw as I see what great domain 

Lies outside the tread of rain 

And prop of surprising grass 

To welcome you, to welcome me 

To what I look to fathom to be. 

Part of entire reality. 

Part of unlimitable thought 

To know ye never were forgot. 



You held the plow, I hold the helm 
The way the poplar points, while yet 



1232 To My Forefathers 

I have your watermill, your elm, 

That never I may forget 

What virtue put you in arms, 

What rightness you played your ways 

For that love of it which charms 

Beyond this one mouthful of days, 

Till I am come to unlearn 

What I of myself may be, 

And so I look to you — I turn 

Back to your supremity 

Of pluck in the open field. 

Of such honest fearless conceit 

As gave you your harvest yield 

Of soul with an aim in view, 

Of life in the flower and sweet. 

Of purpose to do bold and true. 

All the best and most of you — 

While just to think of it that we 

Come heir to your divinity ! 

VI 

Humble moons in the south zenith 

Go buried out of my sight ; 

'T is not that they are not there, 

'Though buried so far under foot. 

For I see through this muck and soot 

As through the overhanging air, 

Till, lo, I am headlong driven 

To know my moons lie buried in Heaven ! 



I do not hear the shadows. 
Nor see I the upheaving air 



To My Forefathers 1233 

Which washes down the meadows — 

Dance they less verily there? 

In among unsaid graves 

Clings the ivy and scatters 

As any pond by its waves — 

What lose I of life which matters, 

So Beauty be the thing in keep 

Links worlds to worlds, deep on deep? 

I know ye were all of what 

Gave me soul at heart and thought, 

Ye who look to have passed away — 

So any night darks any day ; 

Yet any darkness matters not, 

Since never were ye once forgot. 

VIII 

I play about your field by night; 
Your rake and flail I hold straight up 
To let the moon so slope its light 
'T will cut your name across the cup 
Of meadow where now I stand 
— Rake and flail are both in hand — 
And think of you, think of what 
Any life may be, so wrought 
Of honest rough-and-tumble lot, 
Till goes my whisper which will pass 
Down to you through the whispering grass: 
Ye never never were forgot. 
78 



SAVIGNY AND SELTZERELLA 
A SKIT 
Savigny 

Drunk! So drunk, and I know it! 

My back balk and fetch-up show it! 
What for a pitch of a street 

To pick quarrels with peaceful feet! 
Two moons overhead stand witness 

To yonder double-sighted fitness 
Of Heaven to my brace of eyes — 

I know I am twice as wise 
As that gawk who sees only one — 

He sees rubbish in the sun ! 

Full? Full as a tea-bottle at a bar! 

Now, by pittiness, what we are, 
We men of manners! I say, gay chump. 

Your arm for steadiness while I stump 
To shake hands with yonder cordial pump ! 

Your boots ! Fetch them the ankle-kick ! 
They look learned, talk thick, 

Lag like a black lackey behind, 
Or they pitch horns of the bull, bull-blind. 

More to wind'ard — what say? 
Never I heard you speak 

More than caterpillars leak 
1234 



Savigny and Seltzerella 1235 

In the dry leaf — you look glum 

As any tank of odium ! 
Your arm, just for the link, 

Your useful phase! Never you think, 
Or you may slip your quarter-deck, 

Spew and pitch and break your neck ! 

Come, fuss up abic! 

As the gunwale I am straight, 
I handsome, you proud of it 

That you masquerade as mate 
And my boon companion! Hie, 

But your snobbism turns me sick ! 
Snaps to the pleb-irrision, 

I 'm for coequal division 
'Twixt cits — I '11 divide with you 

What I know, you to do 
Likewise by mc, by which way so 

You shall have the half I know 
To peacock at market-show. 

In exchange for which in turn 
You shall make it your concern 

To show me how your two wits churn : 
Look — say me your honest say. 

Is that the moon overhead, 
Or is it the sun — then will I lay 

Wager I can honestly say 
If it be night, or be only day. 

Seltzerella ! There 's the girl 

To pin lustre to an earl ! 
You rival me for her! 

I know you for conqueror 



1236 Savigny and Seltzerella 

Of women, know your way 

You lord it, turn popinjay, 
Unhook their haughtiness, bring them to you 

As I untwist the Hly ! — All true — 
But not this day, my quiet covey, 

For by the Lord Mayor you are drunk 
As an overloaded monk. 

And not I — there flop your boots 
Wallowy as wanton brutes 

In a circle, curve complete; 
You cut conies in the street, 

Mathematics in your feet 
As you suppose, the while who knows 

But figures are figures to disclose 
What wisdom dances in your toes! 

So 't is settled — you are drunk ! 

Never tree-top in a wind 
Reeled so, was so unpinned 

From the solid under-trunk. 
Your luck that I am clear 

As noon-light, am proper near 
For an eye of concern to you 

In your drunken sunken stew. 

Ship ahull, helm lashed alee 

Are you, as you lean to me, 
But — look alive — Heaven's green geese 

But here she is, Seltzerella, 
Both lips to this gallant breeze. 

Both hands full of new mitella 
She brings to one of us — to which? 

Never to you as you reel and pitch ! 
Her flowers she brings to me — I 'm straight 

As fashion, nor I hesitate 



Savigny and Seltzerella 1237 

To put feet forward like a man, 

Which is fathoms more than 
You by your bungle-boots could do — 

How my fright fetches me to, 
I myself again ! As for you, 

My word she will pass you by 
For the evidence that I 

Go gifted to walk, while you 
Pitch and fetch like a wanderoo. 



Seltzerella ! This all-eyed day 

May not match what plum, what gray 
Mix in your look of thought 

I puzzle at — condemn me not 
That I with my friend am found, 

He that drunken and unsound 
As whips the wind — truth to tell, 

I have him in tow, halt or jump, 
To present him to our pump, 

Little thinking I should meet 
The field-flower — your pardon, sweet, 

But my excuses for my friend, 
Over-tempted to unbend 

To the rhyton, nor recked the cost. 
As now his head, not his heart, is lost. 

He thinks me outclassed, drunken. 
So his width of view is shrunken. 

As sees a man in his grimes 

More than truth is twenty times. 

Your arm, Seltzerella, — so! 

Leave him to his dreaming — go 

My way — I straight my walk. 



1238 Savigny and Seltzerella 

Like the song-swallow runs my talk- 
Leave him to his pitch and balk ! 

Seltzerella 

Why so ! — but I do not see him, 

Your friend you prattle so ! 
'Though you keep him or flee him 

As you will, truth is I know 
He stands not there ! — I comprehend : 

You are your own drunken friend, 
Talking tatterwallopy, 

Walking pat or scallopy ; 
You are your queasy friend, while not 

Another hangs about this spot 
You talk to — there your fright 

On seeing me so put you right. 
Never I could have known but you 

Stood poised, fit as usual too. 
When so you begun to jibe 

Your friend, deal him diatribe. 
Right there you tattled what you are, 

Doublesome, multocular. 
Yet the merest minimus. 

Laughing loafing blunderbuss, 
Such your mix of bob and fuss 

And nothing, let me say to you 
"Your health and my good day to you!" 



PRIESTLINESS 

Hail to his toes 

As he goes 

His own way 

And you follow, 

You swallow 

All he has to say, 

You pinch at it, 

Flinch at it, 

Wheedle and pray. 

He pastor and master who owns his own way. 

[I thought God is one part of me, 

Thought I I 'm part of infinity 

Of what is, of what is beyond to be.] 

Heel to him, 
Kneel to him. 
Copy the smirk 
He coils in his cheek, 
Learn of his quirk 
That you shall be meek 
To be mouthy 
Yet drouthy 
Of thought and weak, 
Stoop to thumb under, 
1239 



I240 Priestliness 

Pale at his thunder 
Of wind in a mist, 
Lean on his blunder, 
Hark to his hist. 

[But thought I this: I 'm meant to be 
All by my being which I may see 
To ripen to compass consummatry.] 

Duck to his look, 

There 's the truth 

In his book. 

There 's the tooth 

Full of grit, 

Full of poison to spit 

And you will submit 

To his will. 

You will bow down 

To his frown 

To fulfil 

The least wish 

Of his devilish 

Will. 

[But I — am I to mump or trim, 

Uncaptain, take the lash of his whim, 

Take my view of God through the eyes of him?] 

Meddlesome 
Peddlesome 
Priest at his tricks 
Of cassock 
And hassock, 
Of candlesticks, 
So you will unhinge 



Priestliness 1241 

Till the end be what 
But thraldom of thought, 
Shrinking to cringe 
So God will delight 
At your booby fright, 
At your spirit blight? 

(Thought I God is such power in me 

As ripes toward taller sublimity 

Than master and slave — there 's the God in me!] 

Cowls and capes, 

Petrine groimd, 

Little bugle-shapes 

Of sound 

'Round an altar wave, 

'Round the very nave. 

While you mumble there 

'Twixt the wheeling air, 

Flabbergullion, flabbergasted slave. 

[I thought I am the man to be 

More than cackles nonentity 

Up from the Hell of their Holy See.] 

Let God be God, 
But I am I 
That fear no rod. 
Craving no sky 
Save to make my way 
By force of what 
Truth has to say, 
Nor I heed the trot 
Of their roundelay 
Of blight and rot. 



1242 Priestliness 

And I wear my pout, 
And I hug my doubt, 
And there goes no God shall hound me out. 

[Thought I men are meant for the race. 

To mantle somewhat, to grow apace 

Above Priest and his cormorant growl of grace.] 

What a sweet girl 

In her place, 

What a pearl 

Of a face 

On the white wasted hand 

Which we understand 

Is in death — 

How the breath 

Nor reasoneth 

Nor tolls a prayer, 

And he laid her there 

By his double cut 

At her soul — he shut 

Her will in his fist, 

He ground it to grist, 

So now 

By her unexampled brow, 

As only such loveliness knows how. 

She makes him her final obedient bow. 

[Thought I God is the power that seeks 

Onwardness, as any lily leaks 

Oranged whitedness between the cheeks.] 

Comes a day 
And a way 



Priestliness 1243 

To make right ; 

He will pay 

For the sway 

Of his might, 

For the play 

Of his blight; 

There 's power 

In the kink 

Of a flower, 

In the wink 

Of a shower; 

She shall grow 

To be more 

Than the heart 

Had in store 

From the start, 

While what of his puff-above, Paulish art? 

[Thought I God is the power in me 
Will break chains, snap the curb in three 
To make yet another God of me.] 

Snarl and bend 
To the end 
To unbrave, 
Play slave; 
Cock an ear 
To the pitch 
In his sneer, 
Get a twitch 
To your fear; 
Pray prayers. 
Altar stairs 
For your knees, 



1244 Priestliness 

God to appease 
And to please 
By the shrimp 
In your limp, 
By the slouch 
In your pouch — 
While yet, 
Do you not forget, 
' Man is to be 
As the plan 
And the span 
Of the sea 
To unfold 
Into yellow, 
Unmould 
Into mellow 
Feathers of gold, 
To make brave 
As the wave 
Is to climb 

Through slush-heap or rime 
To match the stars by the blink sublime. 

[God in his Heaven, I in mine 
Unlorded, nor counts the countersign, 
I my own God — there 's the reach divine.] 



NOT ALL IS GOLD 

Pluck the apple 

Out of her hat 

Of the orange cheek 

And dapple, 

And that 
Phoebe feather, climax peak 
Of rachis, untwist what bow 
Glossens at her throat, and lo. 
You do not like her unrichened so? 

Pull the ruffle 
Out of her cape 
Of quality red, 

Of shuffle 

And shape 
Of fashion, but there instead 
Fasten untaught calico, 
Let the terry velvet go- 
Never you liked her the plain way so? 

Rub that polish 

Out of her belt 

Of bronze at her waist; 

Demolish 

What gelt 
Of satin, enamel paste 
Sprinkles at her neck such glow 
»245 



1246 Not All Is Gold 

As the constellations throw — 

You will not have her becrippled so? 

Yours was one view 

Behind her hat 

For the diamond there 

In her blue 

Cravat 
In buckles of velvet hair, 
Nor you saw one wonderful thing, 
Fashion outside your reckoning, 
Spirit behind any flounce of wing. 

How fault goes out, 
Each lie is lost. 
So I come again 

To my doubt 

And cost 
Of truth, till I get it plain: 
She stood beyond your knowing, 
You so blinded by her glowing 
You took the gait her flounce was going. 

Again she 's here. 
The sweet same girl 
Of a lip so red, 

Claim so clear. 

Such pearl 
Each whisper she dreamed or pled, 
But now not a pearl in sight — 
Calico, poverty blight. 
Yet the same modest great heart in sight 



Not All Is Gold 1247 

I saw that day 
You put her by 
For her lack of lace, 

Of display 

Of tie 
Of gold of abounding grace! 
Now she comes to look to me 
If I may look so I may see 
Sparkle in her of divinity. 

She comes my way ! 

This is her hour 

Of meekness of heart 

To display 

Her power 
Of selflessness, act her part 
Of plain appearance to show 
She is more than papilio 
Dancing to die in his candle-glow. 

I see so deep 
Into her eyes 
By my gift of sight 

That I keep 

My prize 
For only the other light 
Of soul in her eyes I see, 
Other worlds of life to be, 
And she the life of the world to me. 



BY MOONRISE 



If I have a thought 
After the pleasant day is over, 
After the sun is under cover, 
And I approach the kind of nought 
Which sleep is — if I have a thought 
That just because I sleep I know 
There 's nothing of me, while so 
I am nothing, I am not — 
If I capture this one thought, 
Comes another close in back : 
This thinking is only one knack 
Soul has, scarce more, I would think, 
Than is chopped in a spirit's wink — 
For look, what thought that man had, 
My neighbor, who now is dead, 
Is now my thought — he passes on. 
Never his thought he hung upon. 
Which now is mine — he is gone, 
But who knows how far away. 
While here is point for thinking on: 
He left his thought with me that day 
He turned so and went his way, 
Quit his plucky diaphragm-play, 
Gave up the good and the bad. 
All he knew of, all he had 
1248 



By Moonrise 1249 

To me, so I have his thought 
Like as I have his polyglot 
Of symbols — yet was there cause 
Made him what he is, what he was, 
So you would not say his thought 
Foundered in that potato lot 
More than it floated from there, 
Seeing he left his thought to me 
To friend me every how or where, 
And seeing what I see too, 
I am higher than my thew 
Or polo-leap — I see through 
This thinking — there 's the elf, 
My being, my boundless self — 
There 's the surprising whole, 
There 's the superabounding soul ! 



Did he wander forth, my friend. 

Or come to the abrupt end 

I fancy I see because 

He is no more what he was. 

Wears not now the flower-blue 

Round eye he wore for peeking through 

To see only elbow-measurement. 

Half his seeing prison-pent, 

While thereso my spirit sees 

To cut through bold eternities — 

How, think you, could I see 

Without eternity in me? 



1250 By Moonrise 



III 

Little lyrie in his brook, 

How I wonder what he dreams, 

He so small as never to look 

Where his water-carriage streams. 

He so small as not to see 

Ocean yonder, how the gulp 

Would mash him to sorry pulp. 

Save that he rises to tower 

Over above oceans of power, 

Now to swoop as a plunging star, 

Hurl his spots spectacular, 

Now to poise, falcon-fashion. 

Let the mad seas growl and dash on- 

Am I to compass less than he 

In my own sublimity 

Of being, I who so see 

Into other eternity 

Than any deep of water makes. 

Than earth models or sun bakes. 

And I hurl my thought to higher 

Than the suns' suns acrospire 

To know there is that in me 

Fathoms to sweep sublimity 

Of other being than I take 

From tea-sop, cob-apple cake? 

There he purples in his sea, 

Compasses all he claims to be — 

Shall I compass less than he? 



I make my round of audits. 
So I sum up the world ; 



By Moonrise 1251 

One has his full of plaudits 
Because he is churched, is earled; 
One picks his way by coarse 
Brute upperdom, quadruped force; 
Yet another weaves so fine 
As soul is — but soul is divine 
Beyond earth, stands not satisfied 
Just because I lived and died, 
Hangs to the outermost perch. 
High height over earl or church, 
So the world sums up so small 
By my audit of it all. 



There I lived because he died. 

Pretty star-bird, Epsom dyed. 

That gave me his heart and song inside, 

While, by the good Graces that know, 

My own heart would not have it so 

I stay because he drops to go. 

There then there goes in me 

Loftier than the world I see. 

Nobler being bound to be. 



See how I am subject to Law 
I must obey and labor for 
As servant, whip into shape. 
Take the foot-walk and short nape 
Of all men under the sun 
Since the tricks of men begun, 
And I wear fetters — there 's this box 
Of bones to hold me under locks 
And I am knotted and so tied 



1252 By Moonrise 

Soul stands prisoner inside — 
Yet would I be free of Law, 
Free of Power — I hunger for 
Freedom to unshank, unmuzzle, 
Cut the Gordian-knotted puzzle, 
Come to independence, know 
I am free to come or go 
Above fetters, as I wis 
Independent spirit is — 
So am I meant to make free, 
Bring all soul there is in me 
To Power — shall I not do 
As the Nature means me to 
That gave me such eyeful hope 
As sees outside my envelope 
Of gull-feathers or quaint pot 
Of broken amputated thought? 



There I go to seek my mate ! 
Goes the tiger, too, the same ! 
Do I think the thing so great, 
Mood which breedeth into flame 
That dies down as I go on. 
While lastly the flame is gone. 
Yet I fill out into lordlier love 
Than I find in mink or dove, 
My love of truth, love of my race. 
Love which knows nor resting-place 
Nor fine friend nor finer mate, 
And I am not to hesitate 
For this, that I shall lose my place. 
Life perchance, and in any case 



By Moonrise 1253 

What your world prizes for so great, 
Gold, consummate laurels of State, 
To prove in me there ranges higher 
Than pot-life, ambition-fire, 
Hence higher than all this earth 
Of any trinketry is worth? 



To strive for gain, is it not nature. 
Rooted in each boiling creature? 
But soul knows one loftier thing 
Than gain, or any reckoning 
What *s to come after — just to do 
Noblemost there is in you 
To the last stitch, nor once complain, 
Nor count one stitch in the cloth of gain. 



What is there that I would keep 

Which the world has, once I come to sleep 

And not question and not know 

Which way I am bound to go, 

But only that the truth is so 

My tie of life I shall sever, 

I shall give up thought and go — 

What is there in earth below 

Which a man would keep forever? 



So I think, as night comes on, 
As evening levels one pointing star 
To show me how the world is gone. 
How there goes other mightier Far 



1254 By Moonrise 

For wonderment, and I look on 
To other unnameable places 
Of other being, soulfuller faces 
And lastinger, profounded shine 
A dot nearer what is divine 
So I may see my one life 
Of uncompromising strife 
Brings me to power and to see 
Genuine divinity in me 
Beyond ounce-life — did I kill 
Purple martin that I might fill 
My veins from his cup of blood, 
Drink him up, forget the good 
He dropped me in his lifted mood 
Of unpremeditated song 
All soulful and all April long, 
So is his death his dart 
To pierce and open up my heart, 
And I am commanded to see 
Other nobler coils in me 
To strike against this life I see, 
Points my soulfuller destiny. 



VI 



So as I come to sleep, 
As night begins to dark, look deep, 
And I have gained on the thing, 
Stand stronger for my buffeting, 
Learn, whichever way I go, 
Nobler being is yet to know, 
Vast creation means it so, 
Comes the last thought supreme. 



By Moonrise 1255 



I cannot think it otherwise : 
Life is some blundersome dream 
And I must wake, I must rise, 
Such is the splendor of my skies. 



HEAVEN 

You thought no Heaven hangs in sight, 
That you play only with bubbles of light 
Which sun blows, life a way of endeavor 
By what is only coinish, is clever, 
Nor Heaven in aim, nothing ever 
Beyond your being achievement-clever. 

Or you thought Heaven is a place in space. 

Poise of elegance, some quantum spot 

Co-ordinate with place in thought. 

Concretion to be put in phrase 

I swallow so I get what light 

Dangles in my chrysolite, 

I get what thumb rings I wore, 

Yellower only than before, 

I get what banquets the senses — 

Yet how may I complish that. 

Knowing the where or the whence is 

Only a trick of the senses 

I play toes and trousers at 

Till I unhitch my fastened mind, 

Drop the haltered world behind? 

Or you thought Heaven is a kind of Earth 
As Earth is, as I know it 
For its oddy-doddy worth. 
Foot-gait and the clip to go it, 
1256 



Heaven 1257 

Nest of paramount easiness, 
Or test of grit and greasincss 
To strike the humdrum, the fetch. 
Play you either rich or wretch, 
Then the one httle final stretch. 

Comes life over again? Not that, depend! 

More by universes goes divined 

Than hobbles in any mind, 

Worids to circumference ends without end. 

Did I find my task to do 

Earns me buttonhole or shoe, 

Yet I come to power by force 

Of monster effort, by which one course 

What man I am makes the point in view, 

Never buttonhole or shoe. 

Or you thought Heaven a thing to gain, 

Payment in fair exchange 

For fine performance, for magic pain — 

Yet comes there quick the thought 

There 's no Heaven to be bought 

I value the dapple apple dot. 

Once I hold this much in view, 

Soul is never to be bought 

To blossom transcendant true. 

Never Heaven to be counted aught 

As price to be paid to you 

For loftiest performing true. 

Mummy-chog in brackish stream 
Fetches his twist to quiver 
Till sun-spots in him gleam 
As flashes the breast of a river. 



1258 Heaven 

And he is in his glorified state 

Just to jump, to scintillate 

In somersault, his oily curve. 

So you see him pitch and swerve 

To seaward, and the thing is done: 

He is more than he begun, 

Took his independent run, 

Fattened in the plunging sun, 

He his own Heaven — to match it, none. 

I am more than chog in a stream, 

As I thought — I leap to dream, 

I plash in another light 

Than sea-drip, ground-hog sight ; 

I rise to more than pelican thought, 

I know what life is, what it is not, 

I fulminate in a wider ether, 

I 'm the cosmopolitan breather 

Of worlds of unticketed size, 

I sail outside this globe of eyes 

Or any frame of Paradise 

By no compass, by only my thought 

Of what I am, of what I am not. 

So must I tack to it to be 

What I am not, the vast in me 

Which matches with eternity, 

As wherefore shall I not ripen 

As I see the sea-parr stripen 

And spotten out to his limit-rim, 

All his Heaven complete in him ? 

If I may not, then am I less 
Than he in his consummateness. 
Since he is all creation meant him. 



Heaven 1259 

All the quality Heaven sent him, 

While I am not that if I do not come 

Into my own Elysium 

Of marshaling such soul in me 

As touches on immensity 

Of incommensurable thought 

Of what I am, of what I am not, 

Which holds in view finer to come to 

Than your rubadub will drum to, 

More than chogset in his river 

Could encompass in him ever. 

Such thought ! — so it comes to me 

Out of tough perplexity 

To en widen, so I press at it, 

Hurl my no and yes at it, 

Try to poke and guess at it 

To know if there monarchs a cause 

Makes the thought what it is; 

I face the thick army of Laws 

At their tactics of mysteries 

To find what the world will one day find, 

Always this enwidening mind, 

Wide as the view-pile I see 

Of worlds to riddle eternity, 

They but only part of me, 

Seeing I encircle more 

Than cobbles their eternal, shore 

Of cities — thereso I see 

Eternity finds place in me, 

As I find place in my mind 

For the Heaven I may not see 

Because it makes one part of me — ■ 

May I leave myself behind? 



i26o Heaven 



You are the exalted boy, 

You in your wonderful prime 

Which outnumbers and outwearies time, 

You of the mountain-eagle-joy, 

Such blue gentle ample eye 

Like a smaller dome of sky, 

Vision in the quality-brow 

Of such a copious mould. 

More is there than could be told, 

More than the world knows how 

To fathom — you plucked your power 

Out of the Oloroso flower. 

Your mystic look out of the cloud 

Of thundrous lip and the quick snap 

Of lightning, out of the crowd 

Of carbon atoms and the gorgon gap 

Of darkness — you took your sigh, 

Also your indescribable eye 

Out of the rhythmic rhombic sky 

Of planetudes — you took your gulp in 

Sea- wash and sucked the pulp in, 

You were brother to the sculpin, 

So are you brother to the sun 

And the moon's midnight — you ape 

The grassant couple-flower, you shape 

Spirit to the twist of nape 

And visage, and overmore. 

You are what is gone before, 

So are you what is to come, 

For, any way I may lean to think, 

Past and Future are link and link 

In endlessness, so you drum 

Creation up to full your wants. 



Heaven 1261 

Capture such unvisioned haunts 
Of Heaven as could not be said 
In a lip's language — you the elf 
To outrun what is life, is dead, 
So are you your Heaven itself. 

Will Heaven ever take you? Not so! 
You shall take Heaven, for lo, 
By the dominance of what is true 
Out into the comprising blue, 
By one reigning supreme ghost 
Which is first of you and most, 
There will your soul-open eyes 
Take any Heaven by surprise, 
For by my supra-mortal view 
I see Heaven and Heaven in you. 

Given all thought that could be given, 
All dreaming 'round the zenith driven, 
What Heaven for man like being Heaven? 



INDEX 



A Bras Ouverts, 1090 

Adelyn, or, How to Win Her, 545 

Afraid of Me ? 435 

After Death, 1040 

Agnes, 238 

Alioth, 745 

Always Rosalie, 479 

Among Ruins, 383 

Among the Moonbeams, 982 

Antipodes: 

I. Hideous, 936 
n. Beautiful, 940 
Appian Way, The, 115 
At a Window, 986 
At Sea, 482 
At the Altar, 993 
Athanasia, 716 

B 

Bachelor, A, 290 

Battle, 12 19 

Ben Total, 179 

Bird in a Bonnet, A, 6 

Bloodhounds of the Czar, 1019 

Bountiful Canny's Granddaughter 

from Dull Moor, 417 
Boy Song, 228 
Bread on the Waters 1057 
Brilla, 732 
Brothers, 660 
By Love, 737 
By Moonrise, 1248 



Campo Santo, 707 
Cassandra Southwick, 944 
Charlotte, 1087 
Clasping the Roses, 832 
Claudia, 849 
Come, Come Away! 185 
Confidentially, 542 
Cor Cordium, 979 
Craft, 473 

D 

De Amicitia, looi 

Dead, 394 

Death, 1030 

Deversorium Viatoris Hierosoly- 

mam Proficiscentis, 306 
Doctor and Patient, 216 
Dollar-Foot Farm, 840 
Don Dun, 698 



Eagle Song, 1047 

Edward Farnum Southwick, no 

Egohood, 132 

Elbows, 1 1 36 

Ella and Stella, iioi 

Elmbank, 11 86 

Elsewhere, 1054 

Endlessness, 439 

Esto Perpetua, 406 

Eunice, 522 

Eunice and I, 797 



1263 



1264 



Index 



Euthanasia, 761 
Ewigzeitgeist, 1203 



Tearfulness, 1140 
For a. Sign, 1175 
For Example, 390 
For Love, 11 05 
Friend, A, 1146 



Gage d' Amour, i 
Gamblers, 1094 
General, The, 861 
Gloxinia, 45 
Golgotha, 93 
Greatness, 795 
Gunflint, 752 

H 

Halo Skimp, 315 

Heaven, 1256 

Heel of the Hunt, The, 876 

Hell, 346 

Her Duke, 308 

Hereafter, 492 

Here 's Luck! 143 

His Worst, 355 



Imperialism, 768 

Impromptu, 301 

In a Bell-Tower, 526 

In a Dream, 447 

In a Mirror, 443 

In an Inn, 711 

In Coelis, 118 

In Preston, 503 

In the Nature of Things, 67 

In the Overworld, 294 

Incognito, 846 



Indictment, The, 12 10 

J 

Japanese War Claim, A, 297 
Jealous, 990 
Jockey-Day, 241 



Kings and Queens, 1005 
Know Thy Chick, 777 
Know Thy Horse, 669 
Know Thy Mate, 1015 
Know Thy Phyllis, 403 
Know Thy Task, 262 
Know Thyself, 83 



Leo and Elfinella, 674 

Life in the World, 512 

Lilac, II 

Little Silver, 337 

Longings of an Acolyte, 1153 

Lord Lavish, 158 

Lost and Found, 805 

Love, 335 

Lover to Priest, 124 

M 

Mabel Mapleton, 430 

Man and Bird, 63 

Man and Book, 371 

Man Militant, The, 265 

Man of It, The, 244 

Man or Spider ? 663 

Midfield Thoughts, 748 

Monk in Monotone, A, 958 

Moon Fields, or Man the God, 556 

More and Higher, 1072 

My Friends, 364 

My Rose, 1171 

My Wren, 1098 



Index 



1265 



My Xenium, 191 

N 

Night of the Big Wind, The. 1167 

No Death, 467 

No Man's Friend, 49 

Nonconformist, 203 

Not a Word, 1077 

Not All Is Gold, 1245 

Not So Quick, 1035 

Not Yet, 1 118 

Not Your Dog, 658 

Now and Then, 90 



Old Darby, 320 

On the Rhine, 196 

One Afternoon, 231 

One Great Man, 488 

One Man, 19 

One Nobleman, 917 

Ootrum and Corncockle, 258 



Paper Dolls, 452 

Peacham Pasture, 1 196 

Pearl, 78 

Pebbles, 211 

Peter Roublemint, 85 

Philosopher and Priest, 1009 

Pickthank and Prudence, 1 1 1 1 

Pink Apple Point, 456 

Pluck- Luck, 719 

Polly Man and Folly Girl, 702 

Priest and Sequela, 786 

Priestliness, 1239 

Prunella's Priest, 881 

Pyrrha, 30 



Quechee River, 153 



Question, The, 950 



Raison d' fetre, 866 
Rivals, 783 
Robber, A, 410 
Rosalie, 955 
Rosy Weigelia, 507 
'Round a Corner, 924 
Run-Amuck Mack, 920 



Savigny and Seltzerella, 1234 

Semper Supra, 836 

Shark and the Lark, The, 961 

Sheldrake Elegance, 350 

Shriving Pen, A, 1049 

Sing, Gentle Bird, 146 

Sky Word, A, 817 

Song, 122 

Song in a Thistle, A, 870 

Spirit, 807 

Spirit Beauty, 827 

Stars, The, 1182 

Story of Zemepheth Tallith, The, 

485 
"Success" at a Brush, 150 
Sufficit, 54 
Summer Days, 42 
Sunrise Reverie, 1122 
Supernity, 126 
Sword and Pen, 997 
Sylph Self, The, 1091 



Thinking of Eunice, 686 
Thinking of Preston, 756 
Thou Shalt Not Kill. 801 



1266 



Index 



To a Street Minstrel, 694 

To My Forefathers, 1230 

To Such a Wife, 15 

To Whom It May Concern, i 

Tragedy, 1082 

Trickly Le Bon Pot, 28 

Twins, 342 

Two Kinds of Love, 928 

Two Notes of a Thrush, 1227 

U 

Under Snow, 1 109 



Valerie Fay, 465 
Viewfully, 248 
Village Fool, 163 
Virtute, Non Astutia, 

W 



1 129 



Waiting, 812 
Wily Smiley, 376 
Worship versus Love, 822 
Wytopitlock, 13 



APR 7 19«« 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



APR ? 1311 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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